


Blaine's Lonely Hearts Club Playlist (revised, extended play edition)

by slowcookedvig



Series: Playlist-verse [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, inner singing, references to past relationships, warning - canonical death in backstory, warning - non-canonical death in backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24409990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowcookedvig/pseuds/slowcookedvig
Summary: For as long as Blaine can remember, he has been able to hear people singing in his head. And ok. Fine. Yes, he tends to fall hard for the singers that he hears. It's kind of embarrassing.But this time? When he hears that heart-breaking song in the corner of a bar? Well, maybe it's just the pain of being dumped. Maybe it's the alcohol. But this singer... this singer seems special.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Series: Playlist-verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708510
Comments: 31
Kudos: 20





	1. You got that something

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a reworked version of "Blaine's Lonely Hearts Club Playlist," which is a set of small scenes (from Blaine's POV) related to "Kurt's Moderately Annoying Playlist" (which is from Kurt's POV).
> 
> The first two chapters are nearly the same as the ones that I originally posted. The third chapter is revised and extended quite a bit. And then, after that, there are another 10 or so chapters that re-tell the events from "Kurt's Moderately Annoying Playlist," but from Blaine's point of view. With additions and expansions.
> 
> This was a pretty weird fic for me to write. There are a number of emotionally important scenes in the middle section that were told through dialogue in the original fic. And those events are important for Blaine as well as for Kurt. So I did something that I've never done before - I took words that I had written for one fic, and included them in another. I've learned that I have deeply internalized taboos against self-plagiarism, which makes this pretty awkward. In some cases I've changed the phrasing of the conversations (and more often, changed the ways the characters are described), to try to capture the differences between Blaine's perspective and Kurt's. I hope that this fic is readable on its own, and doesn't feel like some weird deja-vu to anyone who read the fic from Kurt's POV. But it might. (This is a situation where a beta/editor would be very helpful. I can proof-read - though not perfectly - but I can't judge whether I have made good choices in pacing or story development, or whether a story is coherent on its own.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blaine just wants to get over a bad breakup, and ends up seeing an ANGEL.
> 
> OK. Well, maybe he was just drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setlist:
> 
> Free (Phish: https://youtu.be/y5HNCw3VLB0)  
> I Want to Hold Your Hand (The Beatles, plus Kurt in Season 2)  
> On the Rebound (Uriah Heep: https://youtu.be/Cc8UJS3GMoY)

Ok. Maybe the whole thing had been a bad idea. The rose petals. The chocolate-dipped strawberries. The guitar. The proposal.

Blaine sits in the back of a booth, surrounded by friends: Wes, who has just finished at Columbia Law School. Joe, whose keyboard skills mean that Blaine never plays piano at any gathering with his college friends. Al, another NYU friend, and the world's best and most reliable drummer, who deals with all of the Spinal Tap jokes without missing a beat.

"Without missing a beat," Blaine slurs, draping an arm across Al's back. Wes pats him on the shoulder.

Wes was the first person to try to talk some sense into Blaine.

The first to TRY.

You see, SOME people just don't understand romance. What did Wes mean, that two months wasn't enough time to declare undying love? First, time is irrelevant when it comes to love. And second, it hadn't been _two months_. It had been _two months in New York_ , plus six weeks of work together as camp counselors at that theatre camp in Connecticut. Plus that music festival, with the brownies, and the hours spent staring at their hands. HANDS. Seriously. Blaine had never really looked at his hands before. Certainly never while hearing such a SONG, like seeing a SOUL. And he and the hippy-boy-who-shall-remain-nameless had made out in the back of the lawn section and then had absolutely stoned sex back in the counselors' quarters.

But Wes does have a point. About the rose petals, at least. And Blaine should have known better than to propose when he heard _in a minute I'll be free, and you'll be splashing in the sea_. But Blaine had thought that he and the hippy-boy from the theatre camp would just get stoned again, after the rose petals and the chocolate and the ring. He had no idea that the hippy-boy was about to dump him.

Oh, shit, Blaine is going to have to return the ring. Who returns a ring?

LOSERS. LOSERS return rings. The kind of losers who write papers about how Shakespeare's tragedies are so good because they make people cry. Who wear primary-colored bow ties to their first theatre class at NYU. Who buy rhyming dictionaries so they can write sappy love songs about hallucinatory experiences. L-O-S-E-R-S.

Blaine puts down the empty shot glass and orders more tequila. MORE. TEQUILA.

The band finishes a set, and a couple of their members join Blaine's table. Bass player. Guitarist. They're the best, Blaine loves them to death. But. They're on set break, and that means that they're excited and they keep chattering and DON'T THEY UNDERSTAND. Blaine finishes his tequila and nudges Wes.

"You need to use the rest room?" Wes might be sympathetic. Or he might be mocking Blaine. It's hard to tell. But yes, Blaine does need to use the rest room. Or to get some air. Or something.

Blaine stumbles between the tables. It takes a few tries, and help from a waitress, but eventually he finds the rest room. Pissing clears his head.

Or at least, he thinks it does. But then, as he makes his way back through the maze of tables, he isn't so sure.

Because there, halfway across the room, is an angel. AN. ANGEL.

Blaine hasn't believed in angels since he was five years old and got in trouble for using bad words. Bad words that he had learned from the songs that he had heard angels singing. He had insisted that they weren't bad words, no angel would use bad words. And then he got into even more trouble.

Eventually, he had realized that those were _people_ singing those songs. Not angels. And also, nobody else could hear them. And angels weren't real, and also the people who told him about angels thought it was bad for him to want to marry a boy. Not bad because boys will break your heart. Bad because the people in his church were fucking bigots, and Blaine would fucking well use bad words to talk about them if they were going to be bigots.

But maybe he was wrong about all of it. Well, not about the fucking bigots. About the angels. Because one is there, in the bar, singing with the purest and clearest voice Blaine has ever heard.

_When I_  
_feel that something  
I want to hold your hand_

The angel stands so straight, with the most perfect posture that Blaine has ever seen. Even his upswept HAIR has perfect posture. His skin glows, pale and flawless, in the dim light of the bar. His eyes are bright blue, rimmed with red. His cheek glistens, as if with a single tear. And then he extends his hand, and Blaine just wants to take it. Because Blaine might be drunk, but he isn't stoned. What he's feeling, what the ANGEL is feeling... it's real. It's the most real thing that Blaine has ever felt in his life.

All Blaine really wants is to feel something real. Something REAL.

REAL.

Shit, Blaine is really drunk.

But despite the way the room spins around him, Blaine takes a step forward, drawn by the beauty of the angel's voice.

And then the angel sits down and disappears into the crowd. And his friends find him just standing there, weeping, and steer him back towards his seat. And they buy him more drinks, and tell him that it will be all right, and load him into the back seat of a taxi, and leave him sprawled on Al's couch with some Tylenol and a bottle of water and a bucket in case he vomits in the middle of the night like a college freshman.

*

In the morning, Blaine stumbles into Al's kitchen. The smell of eggs makes him want to retch, but thankfully, Al has made some dry toast and a pot of coffee. Blaine adds a heaping spoonful of sugar and waits for the teasing to begin.

But Al just looks at him and shakes his head sadly.

"You had it bad, didn't you," Al says. "I can't believe you fell that hard for that guy."

Blaine sighs. There is probably a bruise forming on his leg, where he slept on the ring that was in his pocket.

"You kept muttering something about an angel," Al continues.

Blaine looks up. The angel. Maybe he should go back to the bar tonight. Maybe the angel will be there again, and Blaine can offer to buy him some tequila and find out what could break an angel's heart like that.

"Blaine," Al says. "We were talking. Me and Joe, and some of the other guys. And we think you need something to do. Something to help you get over this." Al doesn't say _without getting into another bad rebound relationship_. But Al's inner song says _you like to drown in your tears,_ from some 80s heavy metal song, and it's full of concern along with the head-banging. It's sweet, that even Blaine's straight friends care about his love life. Or about his potential for getting in too deep.

But Blaine is still feeling argumentative. "I did do something. I worked at that summer camp. I was in a couple community theatre productions." Blaine may be living on his trust fund while he dreams about finding true love and making a career as an actor. But it's not like he does NOTHING.

"We want to start a new band," Al continues. "And we think you should sing in it."

Blaine frowns. "You know about my disastrous singing proposal," he replies. "I am NOT writing songs for anyone."

"A cover band," Al clarifies. "Funk. Jazz. Pop. Whatever." He shrugs. "I know it isn't what you dream about, and it's definitely not a career, but who knows. Maybe it will lead to something."

Blaine isn't sure that he's ready for anything right now. But a cover band could be safe.

"Sure," he agrees.

And he puts away the thought of the lonely angel. For now.


	2. Running to see you again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later, Blaine gets a part. But better yet, he hears an angel singing. Twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For (U2: https://youtu.be/e3-5YC_oHjE)
> 
> Blackbird
> 
> You've Got a Friend (Carole King: https://youtu.be/eAR_Ff5A8Rk)

Blaine practically skips out of the theatre.

Ok. He doesn't literally skip. At least, not on the street, and not in the subway. But the callback went well. Really well. And when he finally gets home, he texts Al to let him know.

_Great_ , Al replies. _So are you still saving your voice?_

_I've been singing all week,_ Blaine types. _You can do instrumentals, can't you? Or maybe someone else can sit in. Or you can sing._

_I'll do a ninety-minute drum solo,_ Al texts back. _That will show you._

_Get Wes to sing,_ Blaine suggests.

_This is a funk band,_ Al reminds him. _Not a barbershop quartet for lawyers._

_So instrumentals,_ Blaine replies. _Or Joe. Or ask for volunteers from the audience._ He strips out of his audition clothes and heads for the shower. _See you soon._

*

An hour later, the gel is washed out of Blaine's hair and he's dressed for the band, even if he won't be singing. Black jeans, black t-shirt. Sneakers, not loafers. Role-playing a preppy was fine for the audition, but not for the club scene.

His band is already warming up when he gets there, but Wes and a few of his other friends have a booth in the back.

"How was the audition?" Wes yells in Blaine's ear.

"I think I nailed it," Blaine shouts back.

Wes just nods. It's too loud for him to make his usual offer: a place at his firm, if Blaine ever decides to go to law school. It would be more stable than acting and singing, and it would make Blaine's father happy. But. Well, Blaine can hear the song in Wes's head.

_But I still_   
_haven't found_   
_what I'm looking for_

And it's a great song. But it doesn't sound much like someone who is happy being a lawyer, no matter how much Wes enjoys the office barbershop quartet.

Blaine listens to the song in Wes's head a little bit longer, wondering how it would sound as a funk cover. Maybe he'll tell Al about it, during set break. It wouldn't be the first time that Blaine has suggested an unusual arrangement of something he's just heard in someone's head.

The set goes on. Honestly, it doesn't bother Blaine that they're playing instrumentals, because he can hear the audience singing along. When Blaine is singing, he has to block out the voices. Otherwise, he'll end up matching them, and sometimes, they sing out of key. Which reminds him that _With A Little Help From My Friends_ might make an appropriately weird funk cover, too. Blaine pulls out the notebook that he carries in his back pocket and starts writing down ideas.

It's almost set break by the time Blaine puts away his notes and decides to take a trip to the rest room. He excuses himself and works his way past the bar and out of the room. When he's done, he stops at the bar and listens to the voices.

And then, suddenly, Blaine hears HIM.

The angel.

He can barely remember anything from that night two years ago. But he remembers the voice. And there it is, again, long after Blaine had stopped hoping to hear it. After two years of refusing to leave New York and move to LA like his brother suggested, because maybe the angel was a New Yorker and maybe, someday, Blaine would hear him again.

And there he is. Standing near the far side of the room.

_All your life_   
_You were only waiting for this moment to be free._

And the voice is just as pure and heart-breaking as Blaine remembers, coming from a face that glows in the dim light at the edge of the room, eyes closed in pain. Blaine starts walking towards him, but he has to go around the stupid tables, and someone grabs his arm and starts talking to him. Dammit, why did their regulars have to show up here, tonight. Blaine murmurs an apology and frees his arm, but it's too late. By the time Blaine gets to the far side of the room, the angel is gone. He makes conversation, looking for the face that goes with that voice. But he's nowhere to be found.

*

Friday night, Blaine meets his friends at the Spotlight Diner. It's the first time for him, waiting for a call about his own role, but some of his actor friends from NYU have convinced him that the Spotlight is THE place to wait. So Blaine settles into a giant booth with Wes, Al, and a bunch of people who are waiting for the same call.

The diner is a cacophony of song, as one might expect from a Broadway hangout. Some patrons are practicing their next audition songs in their heads. One of the waitresses is singing _I'm the Greatest Star._ Blaine blocks out the rest of the songs for a moment and listens. He knows that voice. She was at the same callback as Blaine, even reading one of the scenes opposite him. She was good. He hopes she gets the part.

And then he hears another voice.

_Ain't it good to know that_   
_You've got a friend_   
_When people can be so cold_   
_They'll hurt you_   
_oh and desert you_   
_and take your soul if you let them_   
_oh, but don't you let them..._

It's the angel. He's here, in the Spotlight Diner. Maybe he is a performer, maybe Blaine will meet him someday at an audition. Blaine has to crane his neck; he's in the back of the booth, and his friends are taller than he is, and the angel isn't standing. No. There he is, at the counter, leaning towards the singing waitress. Singing to her, though she can't hear him. Blaine just watches and listens, soaking in the sound and the view and the absolute beauty of it all.

And then his phone buzzes, and suddenly the diner erupts in sound. The waitress is shrieking, and one of Blaine's friends has grabbed his phone and tapped it and put it on speaker, because Blaine can't remember the point of this whole evening. Which is how the entire table hears that Blaine got the part.

They jump to their feet and hug him, and then the waitress comes over and introduces herself and chatters away at him. And it is very exciting.

But when he finally is able to look across the room, the angel has disappeared.


	3. Help me need you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine meets Kurt. Cooks dinner. Plays at a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter that is significantly extended from the first version of this fic.
> 
> Soundtrack:
> 
> Getting to Know You (The King and I: https://youtu.be/4MNANgFCYpk)  
> Get Happy (Judy Garland: https://youtu.be/q7d0NRewzW4)  
> Out Here on my Own (Irene Cara/Fame: https://youtu.be/i4mkRwkQRoQ)  
> I Refuse to Sing Along (Bert and Ernie: https://youtu.be/tqOJ_RTD5MM)  
> ABC (Jackson Five: https://youtu.be/ho7796-au8U)

"Hi! I'm Rachel Berry. We're going to be playing opposite one another. I know these are small parts, but we have a song together, and these are the kinds of roles that can lead to bigger and better things. I think we should practice outside our normal rehearsals, because it's very important to nail our chemistry." The small brunette is a force of nature, a miniature hurricane of ambition. Blaine feels immediately overwhelmed.

And also, that might have been a pick-up line. Time to clarify things. "We met already," Blaine replies. "At the diner where you work. We both got calls at the same time." He shakes her hand politely, and then releases it. "And you should know... I play for the other team." _And I want to know the name of your friend, the angel, and I have no idea how to even start this conversation._

"I know you're gay," Rachel replies. "I've got two gay dads. Plus there's Kurt, my roommate. He's a fashion writer." She gives Blaine's loafers a pointed look. "But your character is straight, and we have a kiss, so I hope that you are able to act the part effectively."

"Of course," Blaine says, as smoothly as possible when Rachel has already insulted his straight-preppy-guy shoes. And also: Kurt. Fashion writer. At least it's a clue.

Their conversation is interrupted by the call for a scene that includes both of them. Which is probably good, because Blaine needs to do some research. And then he'll have more questions.

*

It takes some digging, or at least a variety of Google searches, but Blaine finds a name, and an employer, and a profile photo. The angel is Kurt Hummel, and he writes for Vogue. And his writing is surprising. Not bad; the angel has a way with words. Just amusing, and very pointed. Designed to make people read, and laugh, rather than feel. But the photo is the same person, and the songs don't lie. The difference between Kurt's public writing and inner singing just makes him even more intriguing.

Or maybe Blaine has fallen hard already, without even being introduced to the guy. It wouldn't be the first time.

Blaine tries to get information out of Rachel, but she's either ridiculously self-absorbed or very good at deflecting. He's able to learn a little: Rachel has known Kurt since high school (in Ohio, not that far from Blaine's old school); they've been roommates in New York for ten years; Rachel is a vegan but Kurt isn't; they watch musicals together on movie nights. That's pretty much it. So when Rachel mentions that she's meeting her roommate for coffee one day, Blaine decides to invite himself along. Because everyone needs coffee. Right?

Kurt is sitting at a table out of the way, a song about gossip from _Man of La Mancha_ running though his head. So show tunes are part of his mental repertoire, as well as the Beatles and Carole King. If anything, it makes Blaine more nervous; he just isn't sure where to start a conversation.

Rachel grabs Blaine by the arm and drags him towards Kurt's table. "Kurt! I hope you don't mind that I brought a friend. This is Blaine Anderson. He's playing opposite me in the show, and he said that he needed some caffeine, so I invited him to come along."

And there is the angel, in flesh and blood, with eyes looking into Blaine's. Good thing Blaine has his Dalton manners to rely on; otherwise, he would probably melt into a human puddle in the middle of the coffee shop.

Kurt takes the hand that Blaine offers. "Kurt Hummel," he says. There is an amused lilt to his voice. "Since Rachel hasn't mastered the fine art of complete introductions."

Rachel swats him on the arm. "Don't be silly. I told him we would be meeting you. He knows who you are." Which makes Blaine sound like a creepy stalker. Yikes.

"Sorry to intrude." Politeness is the safest approach in these situations, Blaine thinks. "I'll stand in line for coffee so the two of you can have some time talking." And then he escapes, like the coward he is.

The time in line gives Blaine a chance to turn himself into a person who might be able to hold a conversation, even with someone he is secretly crushing on. Kurt's coffee order is ready - an Americano, terrifying in its simple classiness. Blaine picks it up and delivers it to the table.

Blaine covers his nervousness by taking to Rachel. "Ours are going to take a little longer."

She makes room for him. "Grab a chair and sit with us, please." She grins at her roommate. "Kurt, guess where Blaine grew up?"

Kurt's gaze feels warm as it wanders from Blaine's hair down to his shoes. "California?" Kurt guesses.

Blaine laughs. Maybe Cooper's aesthetics have rubbed off on him. "Ohio, actually."

"Can you believe it?" Rachel nearly squeals. "What are the odds that two Ohio kids would get their breaks in the same show?" She looks at Blaine. "Though this isn't your first one, is it?"

"I was just an understudy before," Blaine deflects. That, and a camp counselor. His resume is actually not impressive at all. "This is the first time I've been hired for a role that might end up on stage. Though it's not surprising that it took so long. I didn't try acting until college."

"NYU," Rachel tells Kurt.

"Nice," Kurt replies. He's still looking at Blaine. "One of the other vogue.com writers went there."

"You write?" Blaine feigns surprise. Here is a chance to learn about Kurt in person, and he's not going to give away how much he already knows. "For Vogue?"

"For the web site, mostly." Kurt is too modest. Blaine has found columns in the print edition, too. "I lucked into an internship out of high school, and kept working there."

"How is the online writing world?" Blaine asks, trying to keep the conversation going. "I've heard that it's difficult."

"I'm lucky to be working for a company, not free-lancing," Kurt says. "I took classes at CUNY, too. It took a while, doing it part-time, but I finished last year. So hopefully if I get laid off, I'll be able to find other work."

Blaine nods. Writing like Kurt does is impressive. Doing it while finishing college part-time... that's outside Blaine's trust-fund-cushioned experience.

"He won't have any trouble," Rachel says. "He's amazing."

Blaine watches Kurt as he blows Rachel a kiss, and thinks to himself that she is right.

"You're a newly-minted optimist," Kurt teases Rachel.

"I got a part." Rachel holds her head high. "The world has been transformed into my oyster."

They are interrupted by a barista calling Blaine's name. "That's our coffee," he says. "I'll be right back." He gets up, grabs the coffee plus lots of extra sugar, and returns.

"How soon do you need to be back?" Kurt has been talking to Rachel, but he looks at Blaine.

"Rachel needs to get back in an hour, but they don't need me for the rest of the day." Blaine replays that in his head. It sounds like he's dropping hints about wanting to spend more time with Kurt. Which is true. But also scary to admit. "I was going to do some grocery shopping," Blaine clarifies, retreating to a safer point.

"Don't forget to go through tomorrow's lines." Rachel re-inserts herself into the conversation. "We're going to have more to do soon."

"There's been a lot of watching recently," Blaine explains to Kurt. "They're starting to block some of the scenes, so we have to be there, but we'll go for an hour or more just watching the leads work through things."

Kurt arches a sarcastic eyebrow. "Sounds exciting."

"It will get busier soon," Rachel assures him. "There's a scene later on where Blaine and I have pages of dialogue."

"We should practice," Blaine says automatically.

"How do you feel about coming all the way out to our place to run lines?" Rachel's suggestion is the best idea Blaine has heard in forever. "I think we've got free time at the end of the week."

Blaine plays with his phone to avoid shouting YES louder than Meg Ryan in _When Harry Met Sally_. After an appropriate amount of time, he nods.

"If it's ok with Kurt," Rachel adds.

Blaine sneaks a hopeful look at Kurt.

"It's fine," Kurt says. "If I'm on deadline, I'll stay later at vogue.com."

 _Please don't be on deadline,_ Blaine thinks. "I'll cook," he answers out loud. "As a thanks for your hospitality."

Kurt smiles back, and _wow_. Even just the slightest hint of a smile makes his face light up. Or maybe it's just Blaine's imagination. "That would be lovely." Kurt glances at Rachel and rolls his eyes. "Otherwise, either I cook, or we eat vegan Chinese take-out."

Blaine's heart does backflips. "And that means that I had really better go shopping," he says as lightly as possible. "Lovely to meet you, Kurt. See you at rehearsal, Rachel."

"Bye." Kurt waves as Blaine heads for the door.

Blaine does not want to say goodbye. He wants to say hello. But he heads for the grocery story, anyway.

*

Blaine doesn't just cook. He snoops. Because Rachel has not been very forthcoming about her angelic roommate, which means that he is going to need to learn from the photos on the shelves and the contents of kitchen cupboards. The skillets are clean, unscratched, and parts of a set. The dishes are old but match, like they came from someone's parents rather than Goodwill. And the photos... ah. There. Blaine holds up the high school show choir photo and examines it. Rachel is at the front, of course; she has told him that part of her history. But she didn't mention Kurt. He's there, hidden in the back. So Blaine was right. That amazing voice isn't restricted to the inside of Kurt's head. He puts the photo back, sticks his earbuds in, and starts cooking.

He doesn't hear the door open, so he doesn't realize that Kurt is standing there until he speaks. But it's ok; Blaine doesn't fall over or immediately declare his undying love. They have a conversation; easy, casual, with Kurt singing _Getting to Know You_ from _The King and I_ in his head. More old Broadway. Interesting.

Rachel appears with the wine, and proceeds to dominate the conversation for the rest of the evening. Which is fine; it saves Blaine from saying something stupid. Of course, the menu caters completely to Rachel, too. Blaine brought parmesan cheese in hopes of impressing Kurt, who had sounded generally annoyed with his forced-vegan diet, but it's not the same as cooking with meat. If only Blaine could show off the things he can do with chicken, or pork tenderloin, or sausage... He glances up at Kurt, sitting there in well-fitted turquoise jeans, and realizes that his food fantasies have gotten a bit phallic for a reason.

He swallows and goes back to eating and listening to Rachel talk at them.

*

The dinner ends too soon, which means that Blaine is left to internet searches and masturbation until he can find another excuse to visit Rachel and her roommate.

One of the later searches turns up a music blog. Blaine reads review after scathing review, unable to look away.

_'...maudlin...'_

_'...the most self-involved songwriting in a decade...'_

_'...jarringly peppy melodies...'_

_'...any possible benefit from the close harmonies was undermined by the constantly flat notes from a tone-deaf backup singer...'_

It's the most frightening thing that Blaine has ever read, utterly cool and viciously critical at the same time.

*

"This isn't working," Rachel says.

She and Blaine have just run through their duet. Yes, it's true, Blaine messed up some of the lyrics. But this was still an early run-through; they've got tons of time to practice it. But Rachel clearly disagrees.

"You have to come over to my place tonight," she says. "We need to practice some more."

Blaine's heart skips a beat. "Any requests for dinner?" he asks.

"Oh, anything," Rachel says. "We can pick up some vegan pizza, maybe. I don't really care what we eat."

That isn't the point, of course, but Rachel doesn't know that. And she has other priorities.

"We don't have a backing track," she says. "And I don't have perfect pitch. Do you?"

Blaine shakes his head.

"Then we need something else." She looks at him, considering. "You're in a band, right?"

Oh, god, no. "I think they're busy," Blaine says. "Day jobs and everything."

Rachel sighs. "Maybe we can rent a piano and get it delivered to the loft." She sounds serious.

Which is why Blaine makes a risky offer. "I play guitar," he says. "It's easier to move than a piano."

Rachel starts jumping up and down, clapping her hands. "That's perfect! Why didn't you mention that? So you'll go get your guitar, and I'll meet you at my place at six."

Before Blaine can say anything else, they're called to rehearse another scene.

*

Blaine has to plan a meal based on what he's got in his cupboard. Fortunately, he has the makings for yet another gourmet vegan dish. He packs it all up, grabs his guitar, and hails a taxi. Yes, it's an expensive way to get to Bushwick. But he wants to get there in time to practice before Kurt gets home from work. Blaine knows he's not that good on his guitar, and he has a bad history with love songs. But he won't play his own compositions this time. Just his duet with Rachel. Maybe it will work out ok.

They get through at least five runs through the duet before Blaine looks at his watch and decides it is time to start cooking. Rachel joins him in the kitchen, babbling at him as he sautés the vegetables. But she is also a fantastic Kurt-proximity-alarm, shrieking a greeting in time for Blaine to spin and greet him, then bring the food to the table.

"Sorry to intrude again," Blaine apologizes as he spoons sauce over Kurt's pasta. "I hope you don't have a deadline."

"Not tonight," Kurt replies. "I just turned in a piece this morning. The next one will be due in the middle of next week."

"What's the work like?" Blaine asks. "Do you meet with the designers, or go to fashion shows...?"

"Oh, tell him about Fashion Week!" Rachel claps her hands.

Kurt raises an eyebrow at her. "You hate Fashion Week."

"Only because you're so busy," Rachel says. "Tell Blaine the story about that thing that happened backstage last year."

So Kurt starts talking, describing a behind-the-scenes debacle that he swears he will never write about because it would ruin Vogue's relationship with an especially difficult designer. He is animated and funny, both warm and critical, and Blaine could listen to him forever.

They move from the table to the sink, Blaine washing the dishes and Kurt leaning against the counter, telling more stories while drying. Rachel bounces back and forth, taking plates from Kurt and putting them in the cupboards, asking questions when the conversation slows.

And then, as Blaine lets the water out of the sink, Rachel disappears, then returns carrying the guitar. Blaine swallows, suddenly nervous.

"We don't have a recording of the orchestra yet," he explains for Kurt's benefit. "This is the most portable backing track that we've got." He masks his nervousness by tuning the strings.

"It was fine before," Rachel argues. "It can't get out of tune that fast. Can it?"

Kurt shrugs, like he's saying _actually, yes, it can_.

Blaine pulls out his phone and opens the tuning app. "We've got a critic this time," he says.

Kurt blinks. "What?"

Oops. "I ran across your music blog." Blaine winces.

Rachel saves the awkward moment by swatting at Blaine. "You didn't tell me that!"

Kurt holds up his hands, the perfect model of mediation. "Rachel and I have a deal," he says. "I never write about her performances. And I guess I should extend that to her co-stars now, too."

Blaine fakes bravado that he doesn't feel. "I'll just have to try to be good enough to impress you."

Kurt gives Blaine the sexiest damn look that Blaine has ever seen. "Go on, then," he teases. "Impress me."

So Blaine does his best. He misses a few lines - he always misses lines, he'll keep working on that. But Rachel is a good singing partner, and she makes him sound better than he is. He does his best to respond as if he's straight and into her; after all, they're supposed to be flirting in this song.

Rachel holds the last note, then bows. Kurt sits up and claps, then accepts Rachel's enthusiastic hug.

"Didn't I tell you?' she says to Kurt. "We're going to blow the theatre critics away."

Kurt's eyes sparkle, but his response is dry. "You know I don't write about theatre. And also I wouldn't write about your shows."

Rachel hits him. "Don't be a spoilsport. We were wonderful, and you know it."

Kurt rolls his eyes at her, but he glances at Blaine and nods. "I was, indeed, impressed."

Blaine blushes and puts his guitar away. "I'd better be going," he says, reluctantly. "Thanks for letting us practice here, Kurt."

"Oh, it's my pleasure." Kurt smiles at him.

And, god, Blaine would do anything for Kurt's pleasure, he thinks as he grabs his jacket. It takes an effort to avoid imagining just exactly what he would do, if only Kurt wanted him to. Instead, he looks at Kurt one more time, nods as he picks up his guitar, and leaves.

*

The next time Blaine sees Kurt, Blaine is at a club, halfway through his first song with his band. _Shit._ He knew Rachel was going to be there, or at least was going to stop by and tell the rest of the band that he was going to be late. But he didn't know that she was planning to bring Kurt along.

He can't keep himself from going over to Kurt's table during set break, as part of his usual wander through the crowd. Kurt's inner song is silent, and Blaine doesn't know what that means. But Kurt says that he enjoyed the music, at least after Rachel teases him about it. That's probably as good as Blaine is going to get, so he moves into another conversation. And then he hears Kurt's voice.

_Forget your troubles_   
_Come on, get happy_   
_You better chase_   
_All your cares_   
_Away..._

And holy shit. Kurt is looking at Blaine, where Blaine is wandering across the floor, chatting with Rachel.

And yes. Blaine is most definitely happy.

*

And that explains why Blaine agrees to both wrangle the band AND be Rachel's plus-one for a wedding of people he doesn't know. He's still feeling high from a little bit of praise. And he wants to be in the group of people who can explain this highly critical, rather sarcastic angel to him, and he wants an excuse to sing love songs and listen for Kurt's voice singing along. Maybe he even watches a rom-com to prepare for it. Or two, or maybe three.

It all comes crashing down when Kurt says that he isn't going to be there. But a gig is a gig, and on the morning of the wedding, Rachel calls to confirm the setlist and call time and lets slip that she's about to get into the car with Kurt. And Blaine suddenly digs through his clothes for something that won't horrify the hottest fashion writer of the online world.

Al is amused when he pulls up the van in front of Blaine's apartment. "You could change when we get there, you know."

Blaine shrugs and stuffs his suitcase between a pair of amplifiers. Al frowns at him.

"Who is it this time?" Al asks. He just shakes his head when Blaine won't answer. "I should have known that there was a guy involved, when you wanted us to play at a wedding at the last minute."

"It's not like that," Blaine sputters. "It's a favor for a friend, the woman playing opposite me, her friend had a band quit at the last minute..."

Al looks sympathetic. "Mmm-hmmm."

Which makes it an awkward drive up to Westchester County. Even though Blaine tries to follow Rachel's orders and practice his lines while he rides.

*

Blaine's afternoon is busy, given that he is simultaneously playing the roles of manager and sound tech and roadie. Plus the ceremony and the reception will be in the same space, and nobody thought through all the different sound requirements for the processional soloists and the band. Blaine and Al lug speakers into different spots, and make sure the cables are easy to find and the mics are arranged where they can be handed to the soloists and the drum kit is nearby but hidden, so it can be easily set up while the caterers are preparing for the dinner. But they finish before the officiant and the wedding planner start to take over the space, and head back to the hotel to check on the rest of the band.

Blaine is conferring with the bass player and the keyboardist about getting their amps in place when he hears it.

_I dry the tears_   
_I've never shown_   
_Out here on my own._

He turns around and sees Kurt, looking a little lost in the chaos of instruments and suitcases and people. And then he decides: screw it. Blaine is Rachel's date and the de facto music manager, but Kurt is here and despite all of his friends, his inner voice is lonely. Blaine makes his excuses to the band, rolls his eyes at Al's knowing look, and joins Kurt to walk to the venue.

"You weren't part of all the photos earlier?" Blaine asks.

"Oh, god no," Kurt replies. "I'm a fashion writer, Blaine. Being surrounded by bridesmaids' dresses for hours would scar me for life. I love Tina to death, really, but heaven only knows what crimes against taste she has decided to inflict on her wedding party."

"You don't miss spending time with them?" Blaine figures that he is probably overstepping the bounds of their status as new acquaintances, but he's curious.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Blaine, let me tell you about my secret game at weddings."

Blaine is intrigued. "Do tell."

"I call it _hook-up, break-up, or fight_." Kurt shares a conspiratorial grin with Blaine as they stop to let a car pass before crossing the street. "Every time I'm at a gathering with my friends, I make mental bets about which of them will end up in whose bed by the end of the night, which couples will fall apart, and who will end up slapping someone."

"You don't share your bets with anyone?" Blaine asks.

"Not usually, but I could make an exception this time. Want to play?" Kurt steps off the curb. "I'll give you a fast run-down of their relationship histories, just to make it fair. But you'll need to pay close attention. Imagine Fleetwood Mac, but with a rotating cast of twelve members."

"Even if I don't play, it will be good to know who might end up getting into a fight on stage," Blaine says.

"Ok." Kurt slows down their walk so they don't reach the crowd quite so quickly. "See the blond guy, Sam? He's been in relationships with pretty much every girl in the club. And Artie, the guy in the wheelchair, has been with all the rest of them. Including the bride." He tilts his head and observes the rest of the crowd. "Santana and Brittany - the Latina and the blonde who are holding hands - have collectively made out with pretty much everyone, boy or girl, except Mercedes and Rachel. I think." He shrugs. "But as long as they're with each other, they won't cause too much trouble. Unless Santana gets bored." He looks like he's running down a mental checklist. "Mike's a nice guy, but he's an ex-boyfriend of the bride, so that could get interesting. Quinn's married, but she's also ambitious, which makes her a wild card." He thinks for a moment. "Mercedes - my official date - is probably the sanest one of the crowd."

"Not Rachel?" Blaine asks.

Kurt starts laughing. "You work with Rachel," he reminds Blaine. "I love her like a sister, but... no. Just no."

"And what about you?" Blaine is pushing it, he knows. But this bit of openness is wonderful, and he doesn't want to let it slip by.

"Me?" Kurt looks amused. "I just observe it all." His eyes flick over at Blaine. "Not that I'm asexual or anything like that. But in this crowd, I hang back, watch, and give fashion advice. And an occasional shoulder to cry on. But don't tell anyone that last part. Tears don't mix with a lot of my favorite fabrics."

Blaine wants to ask more questions, but the big group has suddenly noticed Kurt, and the crowd surrounds him like an amoeba going after its lunch.

*

The crowd begins to enter the ballroom. Rachel finds Blaine, gives him a fast set of instructions as he checks her mic, and sends him to go sit down. He's delighted to find that Kurt is sitting in a near-empty row, and settles in beside him.

The inner songs of the audience are a complex mess. Some of the parents are singing _Teach Your Children Well_ , and one is singing _Cat's In The Cradle_. Two of the guys and several women are singing various songs of regret for love lost. There's a woman singing _The Boy is Mine_ , looking at a couple two rows in front of her. Blaine sneaks a glance at Kurt. It's probably a good thing that he isn't playing Kurt's game, given the unfair advantage that Blaine's secret talent gives to him. Rachel is singing about missing someone, but it sounds like it's not the person that everyone expects that she would miss. And while that's interesting, what Blaine really wants is to hear Kurt's voice. But Kurt remains silent, all the way through the ceremony.

Blaine cries. Of course he cries.

Look. There may be ex-boyfriends and girlfriends with regrets, but the bride and groom are singing dueling love songs in their heads. And it's just such a pleasure to get to wallow in everyone else's feelings for a bit.

And then Blaine's got more work to do, shifting the space from wedding chapel to dance floor. He manages to grab a quick dinner before the music starts, but it's hardly enough time to get to know the others at his table, let alone learn interesting high school stories.

*

Blaine can't listen to other people's songs while he's singing. Of course, most of the audience members take turns singing with the band, anyway. Every one of them, that is, except Kurt. He doesn't even join the group for _Celebration_ , which is the big number leading into set break. Blaine looks out at the crowd as the band hits the last notes and lets himself hear the inner songs. And then he hears Kurt.

_Although for you I would do almost anything  
Along is one way which I do not want to sing_

And it may be stubborn, but it is absolutely adorable. And it makes Blaine want to sing back to him.

But he just turns off his mic and follows the rest of the band out.

*

Blaine doesn't make it to the bar until halfway through set break. At first, he's helping the band get their things put away, and then he's captured by Rachel, who has a long list of ideas for the second set. And then he needs to wait for the lines to get shorter. But eventually, he gets a beer and wanders around the room. Or at least, pretends to wander. He knows he is going to stop by Kurt's table eventually, but Kurt is talking to his friends, and Blaine figures that's got to be a good thing. By the time Blaine gets over to him, set break is almost over. Kurt sees him, stands, and smiles, and Blaine's heart does a little backflip.

"No fights on stage," Blaine says, grinning.

"Oh, but we haven't gotten to the hook-ups yet," Kurt smirks back. "Just wait."

Blaine laughs, and imagines pulling Kurt into a hotel room. They're staying in the same place. It's not unthinkable.

"I don't have any updates on my bets," Kurt says. "But I've got a request for you."

"Oh?" Blaine asks, surprised. "I thought you didn't want to sing."

"I don't," Kurt says. "Santana and Brittany want to sing _Ain't No Mountain High Enough_."

"Isn't Santana the one who is dangerous when she's mad?" Blaine asks.

Kurt nods.

"I'll add it to the set list, then," Blaine grins. "I don't want to be the person who gets slapped on stage."

"Nobody's going to slap you," Kurt says. "They love you."

Blaine wants to ask whether the feeling is universal amongst the New Directions. Or maybe something that is both more obvious and less cheesy. But instead, an amp erupts with the sound of a guitar being tuned.

He gives Kurt an apologetic look. "That's my cue," Blaine says. "Remember, if you want to sing, we'll play anything for you."

Kurt grins at him. "Go. Be amazing. I'll be listening."

Blaine grins back at him, then turns and goes back to the stage.

*

There is a moment, late in the middle of the second set, when Blaine's mental filter breaks down. He's singing Michael Jackson songs with the guy in the wheelchair. Artie, right. Plus pretty much everyone else is joining in as they feel like it. The band is in the middle of _ABC_ , and, as usual, Blaine is looking for Kurt. And this time, Kurt looks up and meets his eyes.

_Sit down, boy_   
_I think I love you..._

Blaine stares at Kurt. Kurt stares back. And Blaine almost misses his next line, but it's ok, because Sam and Mike are drunk enough to sing all of them.

From that moment, Blaine just wants the set to be over.

Of course, Blaine is part of the band, which means that he can't just run out and declare his undying love immediately. There are cords to roll up, and drums to carry out, and a sound system to separate into things that belong to the band versus things that the wedding planner had rented.

Blaine is carrying a snare drum out to the van when one of the New Directions, the dangerous Latina one, beats him to the door. Blaine is about to thank her for holding the door for him, but Santana blocks his way.

"Don't hurt him," she says.

Blaine blinks.

"Don't act innocent," she says. "It's obvious that you want to get into Kurt's pants. Just... be kind to him."

Blaine stares at her. She doesn't seem the type to demand kindness from anyone.

"Hurt him, and we hurt you," she says. "I may be the only one who is bitchy enough to say anything, but if you hurt him, we'll all make you pay."

"I won't hurt him," Blaine says. "I promise."

Santana grins at him. "Good. Because he's already left, and I think he wants to get into your pants, too."

After that, Blaine decides that the rest of the band can pack the van. He's been working all day, and he has earned a bit of time to himself. Maybe with company.

He finds Al to let him know that he's heading back to the hotel, and then heads across the parking lot, toward the street that separates the wedding venue from his hotel. There's a crowd on the other side of the street, and a siren howling in the distance. It's getting closer. Blaine checks to make sure the road is still clear and crosses the street.

"I don't know what happened," someone is saying. "He was in the crosswalk, and a car was turning, and it hit him."

There's a body lying in the middle of the crowd. The face is pale against the dark jacket. Pale and familiar.

"Oh, shit." Blaine steps forward, trying to push through the crowd. "Kurt!"


	4. To imagine you would stretch your hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blaine tries to be responsible, and ends up making a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: 
> 
> Dreamweaver (Gary Wright: https://youtu.be/xZKuzwPOefs)  
> I Want to Hold Your Hand  
> So Into You (Atlanta Rhythm Section: https://youtu.be/wzCdSJu5xqI)  
> Scared of Lonely (Beyoncé: https://youtu.be/0SzGKnRg4fs)  
> Stay With Me (Sam Smith: https://youtu.be/pB-5XG-DbAA)

There's a part of Blaine that remembers being the 'good kid.' The responsible one, the one who tried to be the child that his parents had wanted Cooper to be, the one who thought that he could make up for liking boys by being the perfect child in other ways. The one who was going to go to law school. The one who took first aid and CPR as soon as his mother suggested it. The one who offered to take notes for every club that he joined during his first year at Dalton.

And it's fortunate that Blaine still has that person inside him, because otherwise, he would be freaking out right now. It's not just that Kurt is lying on the sidewalk, skin even paler than usual, though maybe what he's seeing is the contrast between Kurt's skin and the dark blood pouring from Kurt's scalp wound. No. It's not what Blaine _sees_. It's the sound that Blaine _hears_ in his head. It's not a song, not really, though the chaotic stream of words sounds like an improvisation based on something by Sondheim. But it's mixed with a raw, guttural sound of pure pain, and it's even more shocking because it is so different from the usual pure, clear tones of Kurt's inner songs.

Blaine watches the ambulance lights flash across Kurt's face, takes a breath, and forces Responsible Blaine to take over.

Call Rachel. Keep Rachel from freaking out. Text Kurt's other friends. Feed information to Rachel while she calls a relative, per the EMTs' request. Figure out where the ambulance is taking Kurt, and find a way to get there, and convince the people at the emergency room to let him and Rachel sit with Kurt while he waits for treatment. Keep track of the injuries: broken ribs beneath Kurt's shoulder blade, cut on Kurt's head (and possible concussion), pain-wracked knee, scrapes all over.

Keep Kurt calm, because even Blaine's best efforts can't completely block out Kurt's terrified inner song.

It's hours before the orderlies finally wheel Kurt into a room, and the nurse gives him pain medicine. Rachel is exhausted but doesn't want to leave; there's some kind of history involving a hospital that she won't explain. But finally, Blaine calls a cab for her, and she goes back to her hotel to get a little sleep.

Kurt lies on the hospital bed, his face shadowed and hollow-looking. Maybe it's the blinking lights of the monitors, or maybe it's the fear and pain. Blaine closes his eyes for a moment and lets songs back into his mind.

It's silent. Or mostly silent; someone is at the nurses' station, singing about a hard day's night. But Kurt is asleep.

Blaine watches him breathe. And then, in the quiet of the night, he lets his own earworms into his mind. They're always there, somewhere in the back, threatening to come out and blare over everyone else's songs. Most of the time, Blaine prefers to ignore them; ever since he was little and fascinated by the angels that he could hear in his head, he has loved the songs that other people sing. His own inner songs always feel a little silly. But now, in the quiet exhaustion of the sleeping hospital, he lets his earworms out to play in his mind.

 _Ohhhhhh dream weaver_ _  
I believe you can get me through the night_

Blaine watches Kurt's chest rise and fall, letting the song flow through his mind. The slow beep of the monitor soothes him to sleep, slumped in a chair beside Kurt's bed.

*

Blaine isn't sure what wakes him up. Maybe it's the door opening when the night nurse comes in. Maybe it's the frightened patter in Kurt's brain as the nurse checks his vitals and leaves. But whatever it is, Blaine is awake now. The nurse is gone, but Kurt is still alert, and scared. Blaine stands to reassure him, still half asleep, earworms still crawling through his mind. Kurt's eyes are open wide, glowing in the dim light, but then he looks at Blaine, takes a breath, and relaxes, at least a tiny bit. His hair is matted with blood, and the hospital gown is crumpled around him, and his fingers twitch, as if trying to loosen the pulse oximeter or something.

He looks so completely alone.

Blaine sits back down, remembering the first time he saw Kurt, standing in the back of a bar, singing. In his mind, Blaine imagines singing along.

_Please say to me  
You'll let me be your man..._

Kurt's hand twitches again, lifting ever so slightly towards the rail at the edge of the bed, like he's reaching for something. Blaine scoots his chair forward to ask what Kurt needs.

The only answer is another movement of Kurt's hand, pulling itself up to the rail, then opening and closing.

Blaine's earworm echoes in his mind, and he does the only thing that seems right at the moment. He slides his own hand around Kurt's.

They sit there for what feels like hours. Eventually, Blaine slips back into sleep.

*

Blaine wakes to a crick in his neck and matching stares from Mercedes and Rachel. He follows their eyes to his hand, still wrapped around Kurt's.

"You should get some sleep," Rachel says. "Some real sleep. We can stay with him."

Blaine releases Kurt's hand and shakes himself awake. Rachel's right. He knows that. But he looks at the dark shadows under Kurt's eyes, and hesitates.

"Blaine. Go." Rachel's commands are difficult to ignore.

"You can take my rental car," Mercedes offers. And then she's herding him out of the room and down the hall. "I'll show you where I parked." She looks skeptically at him. "You won't fall asleep driving, will you?"

Blaine shakes his head and follows her into the parking lot.

"Good." She stops to push a button, and lights blink somewhere in the third row. But before they get to the car, she stops him.

"What is your story?" she asks.

"I'm in a show with Rachel..." he starts.

"I know that," Mercedes interrupts. "And I can tell that you've got a thing for Kurt. But he said you weren't his boyfriend."

Blaine looks away, then looks back and shrugs.

"You spent the night, and you were holding his hand," she continues. "You've been really helpful, but... why?"

"My mom's a doctor," Blaine says. "I knew what to do."

"And you always spend the night in a hospital, any time someone gets hurt?" She looks skeptical.

"Well..." Blaine starts.

"Look, Kurt and Rachel both like you," Mercedes says. "But Rachel's not the best judge of character. And Kurt's all snark and sophistication on the outside, but inside, he's still a sweet kid who's been hurt too many times. Don't take advantage of him."

Blaine narrows his eyes at her. "He's got broken ribs, and maybe a concussion, and there's something wrong with his knee. I'm not going to take ' _advantage'_ of him."

Mercedes doesn't back down. "Rachel says you've only known each other for a couple weeks," she says. "There were a dozen people at that wedding who would do anything for Kurt, and a near-stranger is the one who stays the night in the hospital with him?"

"He was scared," Blaine says. "And..." And he can't explain why he stayed. At least not to Mercedes. "Look. Something about Kurt just speaks to my soul," he finally says.

Mercedes looks carefully at him, then shakes her head. "I think I believe you," she says. "But if you turn out to be some kind of serial killer, so help me..."

Blaine holds up his hands. "Santana already threatened to make me pay if I hurt him."

"I would take that threat seriously if I were you," Mercedes says, then sighs and pulls out her keys. "I've got a flight at two. Make sure you're back in time for me to get the car to the airport."

*

Rachel is sitting in Kurt's room, watching. Kurt is asleep, or something like that. His hair is still matted, and he looks exhausted, rather than peaceful.

"How did it go this morning?" Blaine asks.

"There were a lot of doctors." Rachel doesn't take her eyes off of Kurt. "They said his knee will heal, but he has... a bunch of broken ribs. More than they thought. And..." She shudders. "His lung might be collapsed, and they might have to put a tube in his chest or something." She shakes her head. "He was so scared, I could tell, one of the doctors was wearing the most hideous shirt and Kurt didn't even notice..."

Blaine nods. "He's alive," he says. It's as much to remind himself as to comfort Rachel. "He's alive."

And Rachel is suddenly out of her chair, wrapping her arms around Blaine and burying her face in his neck. He rubs her back for a moment and conjures up Responsible Blaine.

"They'll want to keep him for another night," he tells her.

Rachel sniffles into Blaine's shoulder. "He'll hate that," she says. "He hates hospitals."

Blaine nods against Rachel's hair. "I can stay here again tonight," he says. "My friend Al, the drummer, is still up here visiting his family. He can give you a ride home, and back tomorrow, if you want."

Rachel nods and pulls back, then studies Blaine carefully. "You've already fallen in love with him, haven't you?"

Blaine glances away, then looks back at her with a little shrug.

"It's ok," Rachel says.

"You're not going to threaten me?" Blaine asks. "Or ask if I'm a serial killer?"

"No, of course not." Rachel gives him a weird look. "Why would I do that?"

Blaine shrugs again. "You're all very protective of him," he says.

"You all?" Rachel frowns.

"Santana," Blaine says. "Mercedes."

"Mercedes thought you were a serial killer?" Apparently it's obvious that Santana was the one making death threats.

Blaine tries to smile. "I mean, maybe Kurt has a history with creepy stalker guys or something?"

Rachel shakes her head. "No, he's been single for years. Not dating at all."

"That's surprising," Blaine says, looking at Kurt. He's still sleeping, fitfully, so Blaine can't hear him singing. "Why?"

Rachel blinks and shakes herself. "That's his story to tell," she replies. "I've already told you too much."

And that's all she will say about it. She doesn't stop talking; she just switches to a monologue about the things that Kurt will want from their apartment, and the likely traffic on a Monday commute, and random stream-of-consciousness about a new idea that she has for playing her role in the show.

Blaine only pays a little attention to what she's saying.

Because if Mercedes and Rachel (and probably Santana) are all wondering what makes Blaine want to stay... Kurt is likely to ask, too.

Blaine watches Kurt sleep, so still and silent, and tries to decide what he will answer.

*

Rachel finally leaves with Al. Blaine can tell that they will gossip all the way into the city. Which is fine. Really. It's fine.

The room is quiet. No nurse, no orderly. Nobody singing in Blaine's head. Kurt lies on the bed, face slack, a bit of drool leaking out of the side of his mouth. Blaine wonders whether Kurt would rather have it dabbed away, or wake to find drool dried on his face. He decides that it would be worse to wake Kurt than anything else, so he keeps his hands to himself, and lets himself get distracted by his earworms.

_I was captured by your style  
But I could not catch your eyes_   
_Now I stand here helplessly  
Hoping you'll get into me  
I am so into you  
I can't think of nothing else_

He pushes his earworm out of his mind and listens for Kurt's voice. It's still silent.

*

Kurt asks. About why Blaine is staying. Of course he does.

Well, first he wakes up. Blaine hears the frightened, confused patter before Kurt starts to move, but it quiets when Kurt opens his eyes and looks at Blaine. And something loosens in Blaine's chest when he hears Kurt's terrified voice soften.

 _I'm sinking in the sand_  
 _and I can barely stand_ _  
I'm lost in this dream_  
 _I need you to hold me_

Blaine takes a breath and forces Responsible Blaine to explain the situation: Mercedes has gone home to LA; Rachel has gone back to the city. He's interrupted by the nurse, who only makes things worse by informing Kurt that he'll need to stay another night. A crescendo of rapid-fire lyrics spill through Kurt's inner song, riffing on Sondheim again instead of singing Beyoncé.

God, Kurt is so scared.

"Hey. It's going to be ok," Blaine says as soon as the nurse leaves. He doesn't actually know that, but comforting Kurt seems like a better plan than honesty. "I'm going to stay here tonight, and then Rachel will come back in the morning."

"Don't you have rehearsal?" Kurt looks confused.

"They're working on other scenes tomorrow." The explanation isn't enough, Blaine can tell. "Kurt. We're not going to just leave you here. I'll stay as long as I need to."

Kurt frowns. "Why?"

Yeah. That's the question, isn't it. "You're afraid of hospitals," Blaine tries. "Rachel wouldn't tell me why, but she said we couldn't leave you alone."

Kurt looks skeptical. And, shit, Blaine isn't going to get away with making stuff up, is he?

So Blaine... tells him. He just tells him. About the songs that Blaine hears. About the night after Blaine's callback, when he heard Kurt singing _Blackbird_. It just all spills out.

"...And I know it's really intrusive, like I'm some kind of weird stalker. So if you want me to go... I mean, I'll wait until Rachel gets back tomorrow, I won't leave you here alone. But I won't keep stalking you if this makes you uncomfortable."

And then he hears Kurt's voice. Singing. In his head.

 _I don't want you to leave_ _  
Will you hold my hand_  
 _Oh, won't you stay with me?_ _  
'Cause you're all I need_

Blaine looks at Kurt and smiles. "Ok."

And he holds Kurt's hand until Kurt falls asleep.


	5. Who's lookin' after you at all?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blaine brings Kurt home with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Everybody Hurts (R.E.M.: https://youtu.be/5rOiW_xY-kc)  
> Summer Lovin' (Grease cast: https://youtu.be/ZW0DfsCzfq4)  
> Defying Gravity  
> Singin' in the Rain (Gene Kelly: https://youtu.be/w40ushYAaYA)  
> Home (Iggy Pop: https://youtu.be/0A9binTPMKU)  
> Physical Attraction (Madonna: https://youtu.be/LQnzKokDhPQ)  
> Dinner Bell (They Might Be Giants: https://youtu.be/x8PWHOVYhI8)

_When your day is long  
And the night  
The night is yours alone  
When you're sure you've had enough  
Of this life  
Well hang on  
Don't let yourself go  
'Cause everybody cries  
And everybody hurts sometimes_

Blaine blinks awake to the sound of Kurt singing in his head and is on his feet in a moment, calling the nurse to get painkillers. And he shouldn't be so happy about being woken up in the middle of the night by Kurt singing about pain. Really. He shouldn't. It's not the pain that he's elated about. Obviously. Or the grouchy argument about pain meds. It's just...

Blaine can be honest about what he heard. He doesn't have to make up some kind of story to explain why he's awake. He can call Kurt on his bullshit, get him help, and just deal with it all, without having to pretend that he doesn't know what Kurt is feeling.

Kurt knows that Blaine can hear him singing. And he doesn't care. It's like... it's like it's the most normal thing in the world.

Blaine watches Kurt fall back to sleep and lets his earworms roam freely through his head. They are ridiculous and sappy and BLAINE DOESN'T CARE. Because yeah, sure, fine, Blaine may have proposed to a guy once, and gotten totally shut down, but he has never been really, truly honest with anyone. Not like this.

He is probably smiling when he falls asleep, leaning against Kurt's bed, his fingers tangled together with Kurt's.

*

The next time Blaine awakens, it's to Rachel Berry singing the girls' backup part of _Summer Lovin'_ from Grease.

 _Tell me more, tell me more_ _  
Was it love at first sight?_

Blaine blinks himself awake. He isn't sure whether Rachel was singing out loud or not.

"Don't move," Rachel says. "You two are cute." Then she frowns. "How is he?"

Blaine releases Kurt's hand. "Rough night," he says. "Kurt wouldn't take pain meds before he went to sleep."

Rachel winces before plastering a smile on her face. "Well, you know, he's tougher than he looks."

"He's hurt, Rachel," Blaine chastises her. "This is no time to be _tough_."

"Don't push him on this." Rachel looks serious. "Please." She sniffs the air. "And you should go back to your hotel and take a shower again. He'll like you better if you smell nice."

Blaine shakes his head at her.

"Do you think he'll be able to come home today?" Rachel looks hopeful.

"We won't know until the doctor looks at him again." He frowns at her annoyed look. "It might be a collapsed lung, Rachel. It's serious. He might have to be here for a while."

Rachel starts shaking her head back at him. "He can't stay here. Not alone. He hates hospitals, you know he hates hospitals..."

"I'll stay," Blaine interrupts her. "I'll stay here until he gets discharged. I won't leave him alone."

"But the show..." She stops.

"Fuck the show," Blaine says.

Rachel's eyes widen.

"Rachel. My understudy will take over. He's great. It will be fine." Blaine watches her, hoping she doesn't start shouting and awaken Kurt.

"You're right. Your understudy is great," Rachel concedes. Then she studies him. "You think this is true love?"

Blaine blinks at the change in subject.

"Because if it is... you're right. You'll get other parts, but there's only one Kurt." But she doesn't quite look at Blaine when she says it.

Blaine shrugs. "I know that the part isn't as important as watching out for him."

Rachel looks at him and nods. "He's lucky to have found you," she says.

Blaine thinks it's probably the other way around, but he's glad to have Rachel's approval, at least.

*

When Blaine gets back, clean and dressed and re-gelled, Kurt is awake. And probably feeling at least a little better, because he's snapping at the nurse when she reminds him to practice breathing.

"Just pretend you're training your voice," Rachel tells him.

Kurt glares at her. Blaine stands at the doorway watching them, then coughs. His heart skips a beat when Kurt looks up, face brightening. Rachel watches them, then starts smiling herself.

But then the doctor comes in, and Responsible Blaine takes over, because otherwise he'll freak out about Kurt freaking out, and that won't help anyone. Plus he knows at least some of the medical language, especially about the knee injury. Rachel's trying to listen, but Blaine isn't sure that she understands the key problem: Rachel's and Kurt's loft has stairs. Lots of stairs. And no elevator.

Kurt's not going to be able to go home. Not for a long time.

Blaine keeps taking notes, but at the same time, he starts to plan. Well, maybe _fantasize_ is a better word. His place is on the ground floor. He has a comfortable couch. He can cook. He knows how to keep track of medications and when to look up medical info and when to call 911.

Ok. Fine. He's looking for an excuse to spend more time with Kurt. But he doesn't have to say the quiet part out loud. Not yet.

*

It was an easier sell than Blaine expected, convincing Rachel to let Kurt convalesce at Blaine's place. And Kurt doesn't seem bothered about staying with someone who can hear his inner thoughts in song, and wow, every time Blaine thinks about that, another little thrill runs through him.

Not that everything is easy. Or perfect. Kurt is not the ideal patient, not by a long shot. In fact, he's a snarky, sarcastic, obstinate mess.

Take physical therapy, for example.

"You need to practice walking," the physical therapist says.

"I. Have. A. Fucked-up. Knee." Kurt spits out the words between clenched teeth.

"And if you don't move, your muscles will atrophy, and you'll hurt something else." The physical therapist responds with the deliberate patience of someone who has heard every version of this argument a thousand times.

Kurt sighs. "I just don't want to go out like this." He waves at the hospital gown.

"You can write your column about the do's and don'ts of hospital fashion after you're released," the physical therapist replies. They've already had an ice-breaking conversation, and it turns out that the PT reads Kurt's writings. Blaine is secretly proud of him, but Kurt seems mortified by the whole encounter.

Kurt shakes his head. "Aside from the pattern - which, seriously, should be a crime - this thing only covers my front. You want me to walk down the hall with my ass hanging out?"

"I promise not to look," Blaine offers. "Or you could just put on some underwear."

Kurt shoots a glare at him. "I'm already wearing underwear," he grumbles.

"Well, maybe we could tie another gown so it goes down the back?" Blaine suggests.

The physical therapist shrugs, as if saying that they can do whatever they want as long as Kurt gets up and walks. So Blaine picks up the spare gown and shows it to Kurt.

Kurt closes his eyes, like the thought of the gown is as physically painful as his broken ribs and hurt knee. But finally, he nods.

Blaine drapes the spare gown over Kurt's shoulders, then ties it in front of his neck. "There. You're a superhero."

Kurt rewards him with another glare. But he also gets up and walks, step by determined step, pushing the walker to the door of his room and into the hall. As he goes out the door, Blaine can hear Kurt's inner voice singing.

 _I'm through accepting limits_ _  
'Cause someone says they're so  
Some things I cannot change  
But till I try, I'll never know_

And Blaine just has to shake his head. Because he knows exactly what Rachel meant when she called Kurt _tougher than he looks_. Kurt's inner voice turns the song into an ice sculpture built on a scaffolding of steel.

He's still smiling when Kurt gets back into the room, leaving the physical therapist to go work with another patient.

Kurt just looks exasperated. "What." He waits for an answer. "Blaine. Tell me. Was I singing?"

Blaine just smiles. " _Defying Gravity_. And you looked so determined, too."

Kurt doesn't look pleased. "I have no idea that I'm doing it. It's weird."

Blaine's heart sinks. This was what he was afraid of, that it would be intrusive, that it would just annoy Kurt to know that Blaine was secretly listening to him all the time. "Do you want me to tell you when you're singing?" Blaine offers. Though he doesn't really want to. "I mean, I can. It's just... I don't want to interrupt it."

Kurt's glare softens.

"It's amazing to listen to." Blaine waits, guilty, to see how Kurt deals with his admission. But Kurt's inner song doesn't give him any clues.

*

Another night in the chair. Kurt wakes to take his pain meds on schedule, and then everything is quiet until the nurse comes in for the shift change. Kurt hates the x-rays, but at least he's being cranky and not just terrified, and Blaine sits out of the way and talks to him between photos.

And then... they're going to let Kurt go home. To Blaine's place. Blaine calls Al to plan a ride, and then prepares for the long wait for all the paperwork to get finished.

Kurt is grouchy and wants a shower. Which... ok. Blaine can't blame him; Kurt's face is shiny with grease and he smells kind of ripe. That doesn't keep Blaine's brain from going to completely inappropriate places at the thought of _Kurt in a shower_. But he blocks out those thoughts, puts Responsible Blaine in charge, and reminds himself that he's going to listen so he can hear cries for help, not to feed his fantasies.

After the shower, Kurt needs help combing his hair, and Blaine obliges. It's the first time Blaine has touched anything other than Kurt's hand, and he doesn't want to mess up by causing pain, so he tugs slowly on each clump of hair, asking if it's ok. Kurt grumbles at him about bad-smelling conditioner and the embarrassing hair styles of his past, and Blaine hums to himself and tries to memorize the texture of Kurt's hair between his fingers. If his fingers trace the outline of Kurt's ears, it's not intentional. Neither is the fantasy about tugging on Kurt's hair to pull him into a kiss.

When they're done, Kurt collapses back onto the bed, practically orders Blaine to take a shower, and falls asleep. Blaine stops to watch him for a moment before going into the bathroom and turning on the water.

Masturbating in a hospital shower would be weird, and also problematic if Kurt needed something or a nurse came into the room. So Blaine restricts himself to listening to his own earworm.

_I'm singing in the rain_   
_Just singing in the rain_   
_What a glorious feeling_   
_I'm happy again_

Well, _happy_ might be the wrong word for it. But Blaine dances a little, at least in his mind.

*

After the shower, Blaine's still tired from sleeping in a hospital chair, but at least he's clean and has tamed his hair. He has just settled down to watch Kurt sleep when his phone buzzes.

"Hey." It's Al, and it sounds like he's in the middle of some big box store. "I'm in suburban hell, doing your shopping."

"You grew up in suburban hell," Blaine reminds him.

"Yeah? Well, I blocked it out. And now I'm in the Men's department, staring at a giant pile of sweatpants," Al replies. "What size does your guy wear again?"

 _Not his normal size,_ Blaine thinks, picturing the typical fit of Kurt's pants. _Not over the knee injury and the bandaged road rash. And he will hate the sweatpants that are available at that store, too._ "Hold on. I'll check the labels on his things." Maybe it's weird to go through Kurt's luggage, but, well, it's less intimate than hearing him sing. At least that's Blaine's excuse. "Oh, and Al... please don't get anything awful, ok?"

Al laughs at him. "You know this is the strangest way you've ever picked up a guy?" he teases. "And that's saying a lot."

"Please don't talk like that when he's in your car," Blaine begs him.

"Fine," Al says. "Look. I've got the pillow thing that you wanted, and ibuprofen and Tylenol. And some food. Want anything else? Flowers? Chocolate?"

"Al, please, just stop." Blaine shakes his head.

"You know I'm teasing because I hope it works out," Al says.

"I know," Blaine replies. "And I appreciate it. Really."

Al laughs again. "See you in a bit."

*

The moment that Blaine is sure Kurt and Al are going to get along, he falls asleep. He's spent three nights at Kurt's bedside, and he's exhausted. He doesn't wake until he hears Al singing Iggy Pop in his head.

 _Home, boy_ _  
Home, boy  
Everybody needs a home_

Blaine blinks, stretches, and catches Kurt watching him. His heart races, but he focuses on gathering all the things. "Let me get the place unlocked, and I'll be back for you."

Kurt nods, looking curiously at his surroundings.

It doesn't take long to get everything unloaded - suitcases, medicine, even the walker that Kurt needs to use when he goes anywhere. It takes longer to get Kurt up the steps to the apartment door, one step at a time, Kurt's good arm draped over Blaine's shoulder and Al following close behind to catch them if they slip. But finally, they are through the door, and Al says goodbye with a knowing look.

Kurt is silent, inside and out, as he looks around. Blaine is suddenly worried; his apartment's decor is a weird mixture of nostalgia and whatever stuff Blaine needs for his work and his music. It doesn't have a consistent style or theme. The shelves are filled with a mixture of books from college drama classes, sheet music, and comics. The couch and the chair don't match. The television has a stack of games in front of it, from the last time the band came over to hang out. Kurt may have unstyled hair and be dressed in sweatpants, but he has far too much class for the chaos of this place.

Blaine breaks the silence with a nervous tour, and an offer to make space for Kurt's things in the bathroom, and hurries off to set up the couch. At least the pillowcases are soft and match the sheets and blanket, though the bolster pillow clashes with them. And the best cup for an invalid is this bright red thing with a straw, something his mother had bought him for freshman year, back before Blaine discovered that primary colors and bow ties didn't fit in with the artsy NYU crowd.

He gets saved from Kurt's inevitable judgment by a call from Rachel, ready to bring Kurt his belongings.

*

"NO, Rachel. Please don't bring that shirt." Kurt is silent for a moment, listening to his phone. "No, it does NOT go with that scarf. RACHEL. NO." He rolls his eyes. "Ok. Fine. I do appreciate it. But I'm going to regret ever letting you into my closet, aren't I." He shakes his head. "I love you too, Rachel. See you in a bit."

"It's going to take her a while to get here," Blaine says. "Are you comfortable? Do you need anything? Water? Snacks?"

Kurt closes his eyes. "I'm just really tired. But I don't even know how to lie down without it hurting."

Blaine hurries over to the couch and picks up the bolster. "The people at the hospital said this might help," he says. "But I don't know how it works." He turns it around several times, then holds it up. "Here. I can put it on the end, and you can lean back against it?" He has to wrap an arm around Kurt's back to help support him as Kurt turns, then leans back. "And maybe one of these pillows could go under your head? And under your knee, like you had on the hospital bed?"

Eventually, everything is adjusted. Kurt leans back with a sigh.

"Your phone is right here," Blaine says, pulling an end table around where Kurt can reach it. Then he steps back, awkward in his own home. "What do you want for dinner? I've got some frozen chicken breasts and spinach, I could make some penne pasta...?"

"Thank goodness Rachel won't be staying," Kurt tries to joke. "But seriously. Blaine? Anything but hospital food would be heavenly." He closes his eyes.

Blaine watches him for a moment, and then goes to defrost the chicken.

*

Kurt doesn't exactly sleep while they're waiting for Rachel. Blaine knows, because he hears a low hum of discomfort, almost fading out at times, but then coming back as Kurt shifts to try a different position.

And Blaine doesn't know what to do. _Responsible Blaine_ has marinated the chicken, sorted through the mail, paid the bills, and replied to a text from his brother. And at this point he's exhausted, too. He had maybe three hours of sleep every day that Kurt was in the hospital, and that's counting the nap in the back of Al's car on the way into the city. His nerves are already frayed when Rachel arrives.

It helps, a bit, that Kurt's inner voice sings a version of _My Favorite Things_ while Kurt sorts through the stuff that Rachel brought. There's a little ironic humor to the lyrics; Kurt is amused by Rachel's selection of scarves. But the irony is layered over the pure tones of Kurt's inner voice, like a subtle eye roll in an otherwise serious performance. Blaine likes it.

Well, ok. At this point, Blaine is enraptured by every cutting comment that Kurt makes. He's got it bad. And he knows it.

Finally, Kurt's things are unpacked. Rachel gives the whole place another inspection. "You can get off this couch, right, Kurt? Easier than from that old thing that we've got at our place?"

Kurt tries to demonstrate how easy it is to turn, but Blaine can tell he's struggling, and jumps up to help him.

Rachel watches, then finally nods. "That works." She gives Blaine a critical look. "Take care of him."

"I promise," Blaine replies.

Rachel nods again. "I'd better get home. Get better fast, Kurt. I miss you." She turns with a flourish and exits, as if the door is the side of a stage.

Blaine watches, relieved, as she goes, then turns back to Kurt.

And that's when Kurt lets Blaine have it. "You skipped rehearsal."

Blaine knows he's been caught. "My understudy will do a great job..."

"You gave up the part?" Kurt sounds horrified. "Seriously? Rachel's going to kill me. She loves playing opposite you. She thinks this is her big break, that the two of you were going to steal every scene..."

"Rachel knows. I talked to her about it already. She's just glad someone could stay with you," Blaine tries to explain.

It doesn't help. "But... but it's not just her big break, it's yours too, you can't just _give up a part_ to take care of _someone you barely know_..." Kurt's voice rises as he gets more agitated.

Blaine takes a breath, preparing to defend himself.

And then Kurt's next words knock the breath right out of him. "...It's _insane_ , this is no way to start a _relationship_..."

The words echo in Blaine's head. _A relationship. A relationship._

"I mean..." Kurt continues.

 _A relationship._ A RELATIONSHIP.

Blaine sits down, leans forward, and spills out everything. "Kurt. I know this is weird. And it's hard to explain. But it's like a told you. When I heard you singing inside my head... I've never felt this way before."

Kurt starts to protest. "You don't even really know me..."

Blaine looks at Kurt. "I've been hearing people sing in my head for a long time. It's like... like having a window into their soul. And what I see through that window, with you... I don't know what it is. All I know is that when you sing, my heart... It just breaks. I've never felt this way about anyone before."

Kurt looks back at him. He doesn't say anything. But inside, he's singing early Madonna.

 _You say that you need my love_ _  
And you're wantin' my body I don't mind  
Baby all I've got is time  
And I'm waiting to make you mine_

And then Kurt licks his lips. And Blaine is just finished. This is it. He looks down at Kurt's lips, and is about to lean forward...

And then Responsible Blaine kicks him in the metaphorical balls and reminds him about all the notes he took in the hospital. "The doctor said you could get pneumonia."

Kurt frowns. "Huh?"

"I don't want you to catch anything," Blaine continues.

Kurt still looks confused.

"If I kiss you," Blaine clarifies. "If I kiss you, and I have a cold or something, and you get it, and then you get sick while your lungs are healing..."

"Oh." Kurt's voice is breathy, and shit, Blaine didn't think there could be anything sexier than Kurt's inner singing voice, but he's willing to change his mind. "I'll have to heal fast, then."

And something in Blaine just lets loose. Kurt wants to kiss him, too. As soon as Kurt is better, they're going to kiss, and Kurt wants a _relationship_ , and Blaine just wants to burst into song and maybe dance a little and if Kurt weren't hurt, Blaine would grab him and spin him around.

And then Kurt laughs.

And it all comes crashing down. The whole fantasy. It's not real. It's some kind of fucking _joke_. Because of course it is. And what was Blaine thinking, that he'd never felt like this before. He's had crushes that weren't reciprocated. And that's all this is. God. He is so fucking stupid.

"I wasn't kidding," Blaine spits out. "I meant it." He gets to his feet, ready to run away, to go anywhere but here, to go sit in a bar and hide, except that he can't leave Kurt here alone. "I'm going to make dinner," he finally says, and flees into the kitchen.

He grabs a knife and starts chopping an onion. He can't see clearly, because tears are running down his face. Onions suck.

And then he hears Kurt's voice singing again.

 _I need somebody_ _  
(Help!) not just anybody  
(Help!) you know I need someone  
Help!_

Blaine drops the knife and runs back into the living room.

Kurt's torso is twisted like he's trying to get off the couch, but his legs are still propped up, and shit, that's got to hurt. Blaine rushes over and wraps one arm around him, then tries to help him shift so his legs can reach the floor.

"I was trying to chase after you and make a dramatic confession." Kurt's voice is almost a growl, except for the frantic high pitch. "But I can't even get to my fucking feet."

 _Confession?_ Blaine stares at him.

Kurt closes his eyes. "You know how you can hear people singing?" He opens his eyes with a look that burrows right into the core of Blaine's soul. "Well... I can, too."

And then Kurt is making some kind of apology and going on about violating privacy and probably something else. And that's not what Blaine cares about. Not at all.

Because Kurt can hear his earworms.

Blaine's cheesy, embarrassing earworms.

The guilty pleasures that Blaine usually ignores because he knows that the other songs he can hear, the songs in other people's heads, are so much better.

KURT can hear Blaine's earworms. Kurt, the brilliant, extremely critical music blogger. And Blaine had thought he took a risk by practicing a song with Rachel, back before the accident, back at Kurt's apartment.

"How bad were they?" Blaine asks. "The songs I sang. How bad were they?"

Kurt looks at Blaine like he has grown a second head. "You've got a great voice..."

"But horrible taste." Blaine shudders. "I know my earworms. What was I singing?"

"A pop song from several years ago," Kurt says. "Something about a teenage dream."

Ouch. Though it's actually kind of appropriate for how Blaine was feeling while thinking about kissing Kurt. "We used to sing that in high school," Blaine admits. "What else?"

"Elton John, the one about this is your song, at the Spotlight Diner, the night that you saw me and Rachel." Kurt's eye's flick to the ceiling, like he's trying to remember. "The Beatles song about saying hello."

Blaine is slightly relieved. Ok, _Your Song_ is a little over the top, especially for the first time meeting someone, but the guy who sings _Blackbird_ and _Help_ in his head probably won't hold the Beatles against him.

"Oh," Kurt continues. "And _Cheeseburger in Paradise_ while you were cooking a vegan dinner, that first time you came over to our place."

Blaine wants to crawl into a very small hole and hide.

"I never realized that someone could sing about buns and meat with that much sincerity." Kurt smirks. Was that... innuendo?

Blaine peeks out from where he is hiding his face behind his hands.

Kurt holds out his hands. "I like hearing you sing," he says.

Blaine takes the hint and grabs Kurt's hands.

"And that was a happy laugh." Kurt shakes his head. "Blaine. I don't know about windows into people's souls. I didn't even realize that the singing in my head meant anything, I just ignored it, until I heard you." He looks into Blaine's eyes and nods. "This is new. But I think I like it."

Blaine doesn't need much encouragement. In fact, as he goes into the kitchen to finish making dinner, he lets _Dinner Bell_ by They Might be Giants play in his head.

_I don't want a pizza, I don't want a piece of  
Peanut brittle, I don't want a pear.  
I don't want a bagel I don't want a bean I wouldn't like  
A bag of beef or a beer or a  
Cup of chowder, corn, cake, or creamed cauliflower cause I'm  
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing  
Dinner bell dinner bell ring_


	6. I never heard it singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lidocaine patches, ass-less tights, songwriting. Oh, and singing together, which might as well be sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Physical Pain (Joan Armatrading https://youtu.be/VSlLZK1Zem0)  
> Till There Was You (The Music Man: https://youtu.be/JLDsLeVxOaU)  
> Every Breath You Take (The Police: https://youtu.be/OMOGaugKpzs)  
> Let It Go (Frozen)  
> Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic (The Police: https://youtu.be/aENX1Sf3fgQ)  
> Food, Glorious Food (Soundtrack to Oliver! https://youtu.be/ly7PONiKGUs)  
> Restless (New Order: https://youtu.be/8c_3Afx9ZGE)  
> Silly Love Songs

Sharing his apartment with a convalescing Kurt is both more and less romantic and sexy than Blaine expected.

Take showers, for instance. Or avoid taking showers, because the shower is in a bathtub, without any kind of railing or support, and requires stepping over the bathtub rim to get into it. Kurt's showers are difficult and awkward and painful, and Blaine looks away when Kurt's towel falls, just to try to give Kurt a little privacy and control of the situation.

Middle-of-the-night pain meds, on the other hand, should be completely awful, but... well.

Blaine sets his alarm for 2 am, halfway between the bedtime and breakfast doses of Tylenol. But he doesn't need it, because before the alarm goes off, he hears Kurt singing.

_I'm traumatized_ _  
And I feel confined  
I seem so unsettled  
I don't feel alive_

He stumbles out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes and trying to get his bathrobe tied around his waist. (Otherwise, the erection that he has from waking up to Kurt's singing is going to show, and that's not the point of this, is it.) He turns on a lamp and looks at Kurt, lying on the couch with his eyes closed and face twisted.

"Hey," Blaine murmurs, touching Kurt's shoulder lightly. "It's time for ibuprofen."

Kurt mutters something in response, but lets Blaine wrap an arm around Kurt's good shoulder, put his other hand under Kurt's knees, and help Kurt rotate up to a sitting position.

"You ok?" Blaine asks as Kurt sits there, breathing shallowly.

"Apart from the shooting pains in my back when I breathe? And the knee that I can't straighten out? And feeling dizzy every time I sit up?" Kurt grumbles. "Yeah. Sure."

"Did you get any sleep?" Blaine asks, as he pours three ibuprofen caplets into his hand.

"I don't know," Kurt says. "Maybe? Every time I fade out, I get uncomfortable and try to move, but that just hurts my shoulder even more."

"Well, take these, at least," Blaine says, holding out the pills, then the cup of water. "You know that's why they wanted to send you home with stronger meds."

"I'm too tired to argue about this, Blaine," Kurt replies. "Just go back to bed. I'll manage."

"You're not MANAGING, Kurt," Blaine says. "Remember, I can hear you."

Kurt closes his eyes. "There's nothing to do about it."

Blaine sits on the couch beside him and tries to think. It's hard; Blaine isn't getting much sleep, either. Then, suddenly, he has it. He jumps to his feet, goes into a corner, and rummages in one of the bags of supplies that Al picked up before they left the hospital.

"I don't think that putting on another pair of those sweatpants will help," Kurt calls. "Even though these ones smell like Rachel's two-month-old tofu."

Blaine turns and holds up a package triumphantly. "Lidocaine patches," he says. "Pain relief through the skin. Not addictive. They don't work for everyone, but maybe they'll help you." He tears open the package and looks at the pad, then at Kurt. "It could go on your back, maybe? Wherever it's hurting the most?"

"This is just an excuse to get me shirtless," Kurt grumbles. And then he tries to lift his arm to unbutton the huge shirt that he's wearing to sleep, and immediately starts swearing.

"Here," Blaine says. "I'll get it. Just put your arm down."

Kurt complies. "This is not how I imagined being undressed by you." He rolls his eyes. "I would never fantasize about _this_ shirt."

"Is this how you flirt?" Blaine asks as he gets to the last button and pushes Kurt's shirt off his shoulders. Kurt looks up at him, and a shiver runs through Blaine. "Because it's totally working."

Kurt closes his eyes and breaks the moment. "It hurts too much to really flirt with you right now," he says. "Sorry."

"No, _I'm_ sorry," Blaine replies. He tugs Kurt's shirt off of his good arm, all business this time. "I'm going to need to reach your back. I think... can you maybe turn, and bend forward? I'm going to need to tape the pad down, and I'll need both of my hands to do it."

Blaine moves around to Kurt's other side, then smooths the pad over Kurt's back.

"Up a little," Kurt says. "The worst part is near the shoulder."

"I thought it was down by your ribs?" Blaine asks.

"It hurts in different places each night," Kurt admits. "Yes. Right there. That's the spot."

Blaine tapes down the patch, then helps pull Kurt's shirt back onto his arm. "Hopefully that helps," he says, buttoning, then smoothing the shirt. It's not really necessary; Kurt's going to get it all rumpled again while he sleeps. "Here. I'll help you lie down." He slips one arm under Kurt's good shoulder and the other under Kurt's knees, and turns him back. "Are the pillows ok?"

"I can't figure out if they're better under my knee or my foot," Kurt sighs. "And... it's hard not putting my arm around anything."

"I've got a couple more pillows you can use," Blaine says. "Why didn't you tell me that you needed them?"

"I hadn't figured it out," Kurt grumbles. "I don't have experience sleeping on a couch with broken ribs and a fucked-up knee."

"I know," Blaine apologizes. "Wait a second and I'll find something."

When he gets back, Kurt is leaning back against the bolster, grimacing. Blaine hands him one pillow, sticks another under his foot, and tucks the sheet and blanket around him. Kurt hugs the pillow to his side. "Thank you." He opens his eyes and eyes Blaine. "I hope you get some sleep, too."

Blaine nods. "We could both use it." He looks down at Kurt. "Good night."

"Good night," Kurt murmurs.

After Blaine gets back into his room, he hears a faint singing in his head.

_There were birds in the sky_ _  
But I never saw them winging  
No, I never saw them at all  
Till there was you_

*

Days are a bit awkward. It's obvious how much Kurt hates missing out on meetings and discussions at Vogue; he's trying to write a column this week, but he's just so exhausted. He can't sit comfortably at the kitchen table, and his laptop is, in Kurt's words, _'like a fucking overheated brick.'_ But Kurt still sits there, stubbornly refusing to lie down, until his legs swell up and his back aches.

One afternoon, Kurt sighs and sets his laptop aside, then pulls himself to his feet. Blaine is there in a moment, to see if Kurt needs help, but Kurt manages to grab his walker and hobble towards the bathroom. Blaine watches him go, listens to the toilet flush, and then watches him come back.

Kurt eases himself back onto the couch and tilts his head.

"What?" Blaine asks.

"You're singing _Every Breath You Take_ ," Kurt replies. "You know that song is a little creepy, don't you."

Blaine blushes. "I guess so," he concedes. "I was just watching you walk. That's all. You're favoring your left leg."

"I have a fucked-up knee," Kurt says drily. "I can't pull off a perfect runway sashay at the moment."

"I don't think it's just that," Blaine replies. "I've been watching you walk for a while, and this is different. Does your foot hurt?"

Kurt sighs. "Of course my foot hurts. It's bruised. My entire leg is one giant bruise covered in what jocks so elegantly describe as _'road rash'_."

"Let me see." Blaine kneels in front of him and picks up Kurt's foot. "Is it ok if I take off your sock?"

"I didn't realize you had a foot fetish." Kurt's joke is only half-hearted. "Yes. You can take off the sock." He cranes his neck so he can try to see it. "Ew. It looks like a creepy balloon invented by a mass-murdering birthday clown."

Blaine wouldn't have put it quite that way, but Kurt's foot _is_ purple and swollen, and now that Kurt has made the connection, Blaine can't un-see the image. "You should put this up," he says. "Here. I'll pile up the pillows."

"It hurts my shoulder to lie like this," Kurt grumbles.

"RICE," Blaine says. "You need RICE."

Kurt blinks at him. "I thought we were eating ravioli tonight?"

"Not the food," Blaine replies. "The medical advice for swelling. Rest, ice... and I don't remember the rest of it." He adjusts the pillows so they support Kurt's knee. "Is that ok? I'll get something cold for your foot."

Kurt mutters something quietly, but lies back.

Blaine goes into the kitchen, fills a plastic bag with ice cubes, and wraps the bag in a towel. "Here," he says as he puts the ice under Kurt's foot. "In a bit, I'll move this so it's on the top."

Kurt nods. "Ok." He closes his eyes. "Maybe rest is a good thing."

"Rest is always a good thing," Blaine agrees. He watches until he's sure that Kurt is dozing, and then goes back into the kitchen and pulls out his phone.

"Blaine, sweetie!" His mother answers on the second ring. "What's wrong? I thought this was your rehearsal time."

"I'm not at rehearsal," Blaine replies. The last time he talked to his mother was the day of Kurt's friend's wedding. It was only five days ago, but it feels longer. "Look, I don't want to bother you at work, but I've got a medical question."

"Ok." His mother switches to her efficient voice. "Ask."

"The ways to deal with swelling. RICE. I can't remember what they are."

"Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation," his mother replies. "Are you missing rehearsal because you got hurt?"

"It's not for me," Blaine tries to reassure her. "It's for a friend. What's compression? I know the others."

"You wrap the limb that's swelling. You can get compression tubing at a pharmacy, so you don't need to deal with an ACE bandage," she replies. "And tell Wes that pick-up lacrosse might seem like good networking, but he should really just switch to golf like all the other lawyers."

"It's not Wes," Blaine rushes to correct her. After all, she has regular coffee dates with Wes's mother, and Blaine doesn't want to be the source of false rumors.

"Al?" his mother guesses.

"It's someone you don't know," Blaine says. And then he stops. Kurt's inner voice is back, singing _the cold never bothered me anyway_. "Mom, I need to go move his ice pack. I'll talk to you later."

"Blaine, are you doing first aid right now...?" His mom is still talking as Blaine ends the call and goes back in the living room.

*

Blaine goes out to get the compression tubing that his mother suggested. Kurt promises to rest while Blaine is gone, especially after Blaine turns on TCM and tells him that he wants a critique of the costumes in whatever old movies are on today.

It takes a while to get to the pharmacy and back, even though Blaine hurries as much as possible. When he opens the door, he can hear the tv, still on, playing the opening credits of some Western. "Hello?" he calls.

"Ummph." Kurt's grunt is half-asleep.

"Don't move," Blaine says. "Rest is good. Remember?"

"Right," Kurt murmurs. But he finds the remote and clicks off the tv. "I can't believe I fell asleep on Audrey Hepburn."

"And woke up to _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_ ," Blaine laughs. "Speaking of ugly, check out these stockings." He pulls the compression tubing out of the bag.

Kurt tilts his head to try to see it better. "What _is_ that monstrosity?"

"Compression tubing. I think you cut it to fit your leg, and it helps keep the swelling down." He opens the box and starts to unroll the tube. "Here, let me measure it along your leg."

Kurt frowns at it. "It's like ass-less tights or something."

Blaine shrugs. "According to the guy at the pharmacy, it's basically magic."

Kurt watches as Blaine stretches the tube along the length of Kurt's leg, then goes into the kitchen to grab some scissors. Blaine is almost out of the room when he hears Kurt's inner song.

_Every little thing he does is magic_ _  
Everything he do just turns me on  
Even though my life before was tragic  
Now I know my love for him goes on..._

Blaine looks at Kurt, surprised.

"What?" Kurt asks.

"Now you're the one singing The Police," Blaine says.

Kurt blushes. So maybe he's aware of his earworms, too? Blaine files away that bit of information to think about, later. "I went down an early Sting rabbit hole while you were gone," Kurt admits.

"I thought you were watching tv?" Blaine asks.

"I've seen _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ before," Kurt replies. "So what's the story with these magic ass-less tights?"

Blaine shows him the long tube. "You pull the tube up your leg, and then fold it over at the bottom, and pull the top half up over the bottom half." He looks at Kurt. "Umm. It will need to go on underneath the sweatpants."

"I've been wanting to get out of these things for days," Kurt says lightly.

"Here, don't try to reach," Blaine says. "I'll help." He kneels on the floor and tugs the waist of the sweatpants down, averting his eyes from the exposed underwear as he pulls the pants off. He has to run his hands up Kurt's leg to pull up the tubing. Kurt's breath catches for a moment.

And then Kurt's inner voice starts singing again. _Food, glorious food_...

"Umm." Blaine looks at Kurt's face. Not at his groin. "Are you hungry, or is that some kind of innuendo?"

Kurt blushes. "The tights remind me of costumes for some kind of street urchin," he says. "I played a pickpocket in a community theatre production of _Oliver!_ when I was like, eight."

"Yeah?" Blaine asks. "Did you do a lot of musical theatre as a kid?"

"A fair amount," Kurt says.

"Like what?" It's the first time that Kurt has said much of anything about his childhood, and Blaine is curious.

" _The Music Man_ ," Kurt says. " _Peter Pan._ _The Sound of Music_. And yes, of course they cast me as Kurt."

"Of course," Blaine says.

"What about you?" Kurt asks.

"No musical theatre," Blaine replies. "But I was a choir boy. And I took piano lessons."

"What about the guitar?" Kurt asks.

"I started that in middle school," Blaine answers. "My parents gave it to me for my birthday. I came out the next week."

Kurt eyes him, like he can tell there's more to the story.

"My dad hates that guitar." Blaine shrugs.

Kurt watches him for a moment, then decides to let that conversation go. "Choir boy," he says instead. "I'm trying to picture it. Gel, or curls?"

"Really short hair until I was maybe eight or nine. Gel after that." He'd started using gel when his parents were fighting about Cooper becoming an actor, and he decided that he wanted to be the good kid that they wanted.

"Hmmm." Kurt looks like he's trying to picture it. "I bet you were cute."

Blaine blushes.

"I'm an atheist," Kurt suddenly volunteers. "If that makes a difference."

Blaine shrugs. "I'm... I guess I'm agnostic now," he says. "I stopped going to church when I came out."

Kurt just nods.

"By that time, I was singing at school, so I didn't miss it that much," Blaine adds.

"I guess the blazers and ties weren't that different from choir, huh." Is Kurt teasing?

"At least I never sang in ass-less tights," Blaine teases back.

"We didn't wear tights in _Oliver!_ " Kurt replies. "Ass-less or not."

Blaine grins at him. "What about _Peter Pan_?"

"We wore shorts," Kurt said. "We were kids. It was Ohio. We looked awful." He looks at the sweatpants that are lying under his legs. "Speaking of which..."

Blaine reluctantly helps Kurt get back into the sweatpants, and then goes to cook the ravioli.

*

Blaine's phone buzzes. He looks at it, sees his brother's name, rolls his eyes, and answers it. "No, you can't sleep on my couch tonight."

"Dude, I'm in LA," Cooper replies.

"Sorry," Blaine says. He doesn't really mean it. "You usually call after you've left JFK."

"Well, not this time," Cooper says. "So why'd you quit the show?"

Blaine shakes his head, even though Cooper can't see him. "How do you even know about that?" he asks.

"I looked you up on the Broadway gossip blogs," Cooper replies.

"Since when do you read Broadway blogs?" Blaine asks. "Didn't you say the real work was all in LA?"

"The real work IS all in LA," Cooper says. "But Mom asked me to check up on you. She said you missed rehearsal, and wanted to know what was going on."

"Oh," Blaine says.

"You quit the show," Cooper says again. "So. Who is he?"

"Who is who?" Blaine tries to sound innocent. But then he wonders if it should be _'who is whom,'_ and if Kurt would be annoyed that Blaine doesn't know.

"The guy with the injury who's keeping me from crashing on your couch." Cooper replies.

Blaine shakes his head. "Where did you get that idea?"

"It's elementary, my dear Squirt." Oh, god. Cooper must be auditioning for some Sherlock Holmes show. This is going to be a disaster. "One. You missed rehearsal. Two. You asked Mom for medical advice for someone who was injured, and you wouldn't say who it was. Three. You told me that your couch wasn't available tonight." Cooper sounds smug. "Four. You're the kind of guy who would quit a show so you could bring your injured crush home to sleep on your couch."

Blaine tries to ignore how well his brother knows him.

"If you don't tell me, I'm going to find out." God, Cooper is going to be impossible until this audition is over. It was better when he was singing about selling car insurance during every call.

So Blaine just answers. "His name is Kurt. He is my co-star's roommate. And he got hit by a car." He hopes that will be enough. "But don't tell Mom he's staying with me. Ok?"

"Sure." Cooper doesn't sound the least bit sincere.

Blaine groans. "COOP."

"We all just care about you, Squirt." Cooper is silent for a moment. "Got to take another call. Talk to you later."

"Bye," Blaine says. But Cooper has already hung up.

*

Kurt is lying back against the bolster, eyes closed, worn out from an hour sitting up with his laptop. And Blaine... isn't quite sure what to do now. The dishes are washed and put away. He has picked up the various medical supplies that were spread out, and gathered the laundry, and even cleaned the tub and the sink and the toilet.

"Why don't you ever play your guitar?" Kurt opens one eye and looks at Blaine. "You're singing about _'restless, I feel so restless.'_ " His shrug is tiny, but noticeable. "You sing all the time, out loud and in your head. But you never play the guitar. Even though it's sitting out here in the living room. Like you normally play it all the time."

Blaine glances away and then looks back. Because it's true. He normally grabs his guitar whenever inspiration strikes. It's just... "I'm not very good," he finally says.

Kurt opens his other eye, just so he can roll both of them. "Blaine. I'm not going to write a blog post criticizing your guitar skills." When Blaine doesn't respond, he keeps going. "I don't play any instruments. I'm not going judge you."

Blaine is skeptical, and it probably shows.

"Ok. Fine. I am judgmental. But Blaine, I'm lying on your couch and eating your food and taking over your life, and I think you should play your guitar if you feel like it." He shrugs. "I'd like to hear it."

And that's close enough to a request for Blaine to finally open the case and pull out the guitar. He plays a note, frowns, and adjusts it, then tunes the other strings and tries a couple chords.

"What is that?" Kurt asks. "It sounds familiar."

" _Twist and Shout_ ," Blaine says. "Or _La Bamba_. You pick." He sings half the lyrics to one, then switches to the other.

"Nice," Kurt replies. "What else can you mash up, off the top of your head?"

That leads to about an hour of goofing around, switching from one song to another, getting Kurt to guess songs from the first chord, trying to come up with the weirdest possible combinations. And when Kurt is finally too tired to keep playing the game, Blaine sits for a while and just strums.

*

From that point on, Blaine's guitar becomes part of the routine. There's still cooking, and helping Kurt walk around the living room and get regular doses of painkillers and take showers. But there are also periods of an hour or more where they just sit, Kurt with his laptop and Blaine with his guitar, strumming along to the songs in their heads.

*

There's a new song whispering in the corner of Blaine's mind. Not one of his earworms. Not a song that he's heard someone else sing. A song that wants to be written.

It's been a while since Blaine has written a song. Years, to be honest. Since that disastrous singing proposal to that hippy boy, the one Blaine can barely remember because his attempt to drown his failure in alcohol had led to hearing Kurt sing in his head, that first time. And maybe it was all for the best, if it meant meeting Kurt.

That doesn't mean that Blaine wants to risk any more songwriting.

But the new song won't leave Blaine alone. Kurt is engrossed in something on his laptop, and the living room has settled into the quiet companionability of work. So Blaine grabs his notebook from his bedroom, picks up his guitar, and lets the new song seep into his mind.

Attempting to write the song is like... trying to capture a rainbow in a jar, or something. The chords slip away when he starts to strum. The words are there, but then they're suddenly wrong, too trite one moment, overwrought the next. But the song is there, just out of reach, and Blaine needs to get it down before he loses it. He strums, then scribbles notes, then picks up his guitar and tries again.

He has to look up, finally, to let his eyes focus on something else for a moment. Or maybe he just wants to look at Kurt.

Who is watching him.

"Don't stop," Kurt murmurs. "I didn't know that you wrote your own music."

Blaine wants to run and hide, but he just shrugs. "I didn't realize you could hear it."

"It doesn't bother me." Kurt keeps watching him.

Blaine looks down at his guitar, but the song is gone, as ephemeral as a wisp of mist in the sunlight. And, oh god, Kurt is asking him about the song, and shit. Kurt may be kind about listening to Blaine's earworms, but this is so much more embarrassing.

Especially because, if Blaine's honest, he was kind of writing a song about Kurt. And he isn't ready to admit that. Not given his track record with writing love songs. He looks down at his guitar, trying to strum, to distract Kurt from whatever he heard.

_You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs  
I look around me and I see it isn't so_

And then Blaine hears Kurt's voice in his head. Singing the same song. Or... not just the same song, not like they just happened to have the same song stuck in their heads. Kurt is harmonizing with him.

Blaine's heart nearly stops beating for a moment. Kurt's voice is sliding past his, interweaving words and notes, making the song complete. It feels like... like a caress, or more than that, like caressing except with all the senses, not just sound but touch and smell and sight and taste.

They finish the song. And Blaine doesn't know what to say. It could have been a hallucination. Maybe. He just needs to ask. "Did... did you just sing along with my earworm?" 

Kurt nods. "I heard you singing in my head."

"I heard you." As if Blaine needs to confirm anything. They both know what happened. "It was..."

"Weird?" Kurt asks.

"Amazing." Blaine shakes his head. "Kurt, when I hear other people singing..."

"It's like a window into their soul," Kurt interrupts gently. "You've told me."

"It's more than that. It's like... seeing them naked. Singing with another person, in my head... it's like being with them. Like being with _you_."

"You mean being together naked." Kurt's cheeks are slightly flushed. And, oh, shit, Blaine wonders how far down the blush goes, and imagines doing things to make that skin redden and that head tilt back and that mouth pant and...

Blaine stumbles to his feet, barely managing to put the guitar down beside the chair. "I... excuse me. I think I need to go take a shower."

"You mean you're going to go masturbate." And, shit, the frankness in Kurt's soft voice is going to break Blaine into pieces right there, standing in the living room. "You know I'll hear you singing, if you're worried about being naked in front of me."

Blaine blinks.

"You could just do it out here." Kurt doesn't sound like he's teasing. He sounds like he means it.

Blaine's mouth suddenly goes dry.

"I've masturbated while imagining you sing," Kurt says. "Before the accident."

And. Umm. Yeah. "What are you saying?" Blaine has to force the words out.

"If you're going to be essentially naked to me anyway..." Kurt looks directly at Blaine. And if Blaine didn't feel like he was being undressed before... "I would like to watch."

And. Well. What else is there to do? Blaine moves the chair until Kurt can see everything he wants, and follows the instructions, and...

It doesn't take much. Blaine can feel himself ready to come, and he can't help it, his silly earworm sneaks back into his head and starts singing about _coming in the air tonight_ , because Blaine's earworm is all about bad puns and innuendo. But then Kurt is singing along with him, singing _Blaine's song_ in _Blaine's head_ and it's as if Kurt is touching him with his hands and his mouth and his voice and is next to him and in front of him and around him and...

Everything shorts out, and Blaine gasps and releases everything he had been holding in, and Kurt holds the last note and it's like Kurt is holding him through the orgasm and it keeps going until Blaine doesn't have a single bone or muscle or brain anymore.

"Holy shit," Blaine whispers. He looks at Kurt's satisfied grin, and then at the pile of clothes around him. "I'm. Umm. Going to go clean up now." He gets up and stumbles into the bathroom. There's an old washcloth for cleaning up, in the same drawer with...

Blaine looks at the box of condoms. He can't kiss Kurt, not until they know that Kurt's lungs are healed. And twisting or thrusting might hurt Kurt's knee, or his ribs. And Kurt can still barely lift his arm.

But Blaine really wants to see that flush that he imagined creep across Kurt's cheeks and see him close his eyes or bite his lip or gasp in the throes of an orgasm. He tears off a packet and carries it back into the living room.

And it's just in time, because Kurt is already reaching down to touch himself. Blaine holds up the condom and raises his eyebrows.

Kurt looks mildly scandalized. "It's not that I don't want to." The blush creeps up towards his ears. "But I've got broken ribs. I don't think I should."

So Blaine explains. Or tries to explain. It comes out maybe more direct and less elegant than he wants. Yes, Blaine offers to give Kurt a blow job. But it's more than that. He wants Kurt to experience what Blaine feels when he hears Kurt sing with him, to be caressed and surrounded and to have every nerve ending come to life with this sense of intimate sharing.

It's a poor substitute, Blaine knows, as he slides the sweatpants and underwear off of Kurt's legs and unrolls the condom. He runs his fingers along Kurt's cock, feeling it twitch, then bends down to kiss and lick and suck. Kurt gasps and rolls his hips.

"Don't move," Blaine whispers, running his hands along Kurt's sides, trying to press firmly enough to avoid tickling, but gently enough to let Kurt feel what it's like when Kurt's voice wraps around Blaine's.

Kurt is already gone, eyes rolling back and mouth twisting, murmuring something that might be Blaine's name. Underneath it all is a single note, a slow glissando up to a higher pitch as all of Kurt's muscles tighten. Blaine sucks one more time, and Kurt releases, gasping and panting.

Blaine pulls his mouth away, leaving his hands behind to caress Kurt through the last quivers of the orgasm, and just watches.

Kurt opens his eyes. "What was I singing?"

_Ecstasy. Joy._ But Blaine isn't quite sure how to put that. "There weren't any words. Just a note."

Kurt grimaces. It's fascinating, how the same muscles can shape Kurt's orgasm face and this embarrassed look. "Sorry."

"Don't be." _Oh my god, Kurt, don't even think that._ "It was incredible." Blaine picks up his damp cloth, removes the condom, and cleans Kurt off.

Kurt's face relaxes as Blaine pulls the sweatpants back on, then tucks a blanket around him. Blaine doesn't need to tell him to get some rest, but he does, just for the excuse to brush Kurt's cheek one time. Kurt smiles a little and leans into the touch, and then, quietly, begins to snore.

Blaine goes back to his chair and sits, watching his snarky, exhausted angel.

Eventually, he picks up his notebook, takes out his guitar, and finishes the draft of his song.


	7. The world turning circles inside my brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which singing in each other's heads is not the same thing as healthy communication. But Blaine still thinks it's pretty hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Solid (As a Rock) (Ashford & Simpson: https://youtu.be/Lv-uWegEbTQ)
> 
> Dancing in the Moonlight (King Harvest: https://youtu.be/hMc8naeeSS8)
> 
> King of Pain (The Police: https://youtu.be/B3l0kpl5tA4)
> 
> Something to Talk About (Bonnie Raitt: https://youtu.be/mJ58TVYNFro)
> 
> Whammy Kiss (The B-52s: https://youtu.be/JtRFzDXfcYI)
> 
> Rubber Ducky (Sesame Street: https://youtu.be/Mh85R-S-dh8)
> 
> Sexual Healing (Marvin Gaye: https://youtu.be/rjlSiASsUIs)
> 
> Take a Walk on the Wild Side (Lou Reed: https://youtu.be/oG6fayQBm9w)
> 
> Walkin' After Midnight (Patsy Cline: https://youtu.be/bsRNCvHXHHU)
> 
> Walk of Life (Dire Straits: https://youtu.be/kd9TlGDZGkI)
> 
> I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) (The Proclaimers: https://youtu.be/tbNlMtqrYS0)

Post-coital baking turns out to be a bad idea. Or maybe a great idea, depending on one's perspective.

Kurt is still sound asleep when Blaine finally puts his guitar and notebook away. It isn't time to make dinner yet, and Blaine is restless, and he wants to do something special to mark the occasion. But he remembers that Kurt isn't into flowers. So: cookies. Blaine finds a recipe for something he's never made before, some kind of chocolate drop cookies. He mixes the ingredients, shapes them into lumpy hearts, and puts them in the oven.

But he forgets to set the timer.

Which is important because Kurt wakes up, and Blaine goes into the living room to see if he needs a lidocaine patch or ice for his foot, and then gets distracted by the conversation. He forgets about the cookies until Kurt says something.

"Are you baking something?"

Blaine sniffs. "Oh. Shit." He rushes into the kitchen, turns off the oven, and pulls out the sheet. The cookies aren't burned. Not yet. Or at least, they're not literally on fire. But, well. They aren't going to be the gesture of ecstatic love that Blaine had wanted.

Kurt limps into the kitchen, pushing his walker. "You sounded worried," he explains.

Blaine scrapes a cookie off the sheet and holds out the spatula so Kurt can inspect it. "I don't think these are edible."

Kurt pokes it. "What was it supposed to be?"

"A chocolate cookie." Blaine makes a face. "No, don't try to eat it. They're supposed to be soft and puffy, and, well..." His earworm sneaks into his brain. And, well, screw it. Kurt can hear it, anyway. "The cookies are..."

 _Solid_ _  
Solid as a rock_

Blaine spins around sheepishly, as if dancing will make up for ruining the cookies.

Kurt looks amused, then thoughtful. And then his voice joins in, at least in Blaine's head.

 _And nothing's changed it_ _  
The thrill is still hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, hot_

The thrill is most definitely hot. At least, it feels that way to Blaine. He grins at Kurt and keeps singing. Kurt continues harmonizing, and even works in a little shoulder-shimmy, despite holding onto his walker for balance.

When Blaine finally flubs the lyrics, they break into giggles. But then, when Kurt catches his breath, he raises an eyebrow, pushes his walker back into the living room, and lowers himself onto the couch. Blaine bites his lip, then follows.

Twenty minutes later, they are both sitting on the couch, bare from the waist down, and sticky. Kurt leans over to grab the damp cloth, then sways.

"You ok?" Blaine is on his feet in a moment.

"Just dizzy," Kurt shrugs. "I came pretty hard."

But Blaine isn't willing to accept that explanation too easily. "Do you get dizzy a lot?" he asks. Is that a symptom of a concussion? Blaine doesn't remember.

"Kind of?" Kurt looks worried. "I don't need to go back to the hospital, do I? I've got an appointment soon anyway. I don't want to spend another night there."

"No, don't worry about it," Blaine reassures him. "I'll just check with my mother next time I talk to her, and make sure there isn't something else we should be doing." He picks up the cloth. "In the meantime... just let me do the cleaning up, ok?"

*

The moon is rising when Blaine's alarm tells him that it's time to give Kurt his middle-of-the-night pain meds. There are only a few times per year when he can see the moon from his window, and Blaine is rarely awake for them. So this silvery moonbeam is something special, and Blaine leaves his door open to allow the light to filter into the living room. Kurt is still asleep on the couch, almost glowing in the pale light. Blaine watches him for a moment, and then dances into the kitchen to get some water and ibuprofen.

He's halfway back to the sofa when he hears Kurt's voice, singing backup vocals.

 _Dancing in the moonlight_ _  
Everybody's feeling warm and bright  
It's such a fine and natural sight  
Everybody's dancing in the moonlight_

Blaine stops for a moment, and realizes that he's been singing in his head. Kurt tries to sit up, but Blaine can tell it's rough when Kurt's singing breaks off, then is replaced by a snippet of another song.

_it's my destiny to be the king of pain_

Blaine winces. "I'm not going to sing along with that. Hold on, I've got you." He slides an arm under Kurt's shoulder and helps him rotate to sitting.

"It's been more than a week since the accident," Kurt grumbles. "I'm so sick of this, Blaine."

"I know," Blaine whispers, nuzzling Kurt's neck. "I know."

*

Blaine is just pulling on his pants after yet another singing-triggered orgasm when his phone rings. He would ignore it, but Kurt grabs the phone from the end table and puts it on speaker.

It's Al. "Hey," he says. "You free to come to practice tonight?"

Blaine blinks. He can't even remember what day it is. But Kurt is nodding _yes_ , so Blaine answers. "Um. Sure."

"Your guy doing ok?" Al asks.

"Better, thanks," Kurt replies.

"Oh, hey, Kurt!" Al says. "You wearing those sweatpants still?"

"I'm just about to put them on," Kurt replies. He smirks at Blaine.

Blaine just shakes his head. "I'll see you tonight, Al."

"Don't forget we've got a gig on Friday," Al reminds him. "Bye, Kurt!"

"Bye, Al." Kurt taps the phone off.

"I forgot about the band," Blaine apologizes. "Sorry. I'm not usually this flaky."

"Rachel promised a visit," Kurt says, tapping Blaine's phone again. "Here. It's ringing. You should talk to her."

Which is how they manage their first evening apart in a week... the night before Kurt's follow-up appointment.

*

When Blaine arrives at band practice, everyone else is busy setting up amps and tuning guitars. There's an advantage to being the vocalist, Blaine thinks, and pulls out his phone to call his mother.

"Hi, sweetie," she answers. "Is everything all right?"

"I think so," Blaine says. "Remember my friend who needed help with swelling?"

"Of course." His mother suddenly sounds serious. "What's going on?"

"It's not an emergency or anything," Blaine reassures her. "It's just... he's got a follow-up appointment tomorrow, and I'm taking him, and I want to be ready to ask the doctor questions. Just... as a backup. You know how patients forget things."

His mother is silent for a moment. "Tell me about his injuries," she says.

So Blaine goes through the list, the ribs and the punctured lung and the hurt knee and the swollen foot.

His mother lists a few things to watch out for, in the clipped voice that she always uses for medical information. And then she switches modes. "Blaine, sweetie. I think you need to tell me more about this _'friend.'_ "

A loud guitar chord rescues Blaine from the need to answer. "Got to go, Mom," Blaine says. "The band's ready to practice. Love you!"

"Text me tomorrow if you have questions!" his mother manages to say before Blaine hangs up.

*

Kurt gets a clean bill of health at his follow-up appointment. Which means that he is cleared to walk short distances without the walker, and, not incidentally, to have long make-out sessions on the couch. And... sex is awesome, but singing with Kurt in his head while their tongues are tangling, while they are breathing the same air... it's just overwhelming. Blaine could do this forever.

And it's playful, too. Like when Rachel comes over on Friday night, to stay with Kurt while Blaine's band is playing. Blaine gives Kurt a kiss on his way to the door, and then hears Kurt's voice in his head:

 _Let's give them something to talk about_ _  
A little mystery to figure out  
Let's give them something to talk about  
How about love, love, love, love?_

Kurt holds the kiss for longer than Blaine had intended, and ends it with a little extra peck. As Blaine heads down the steps towards the street, he can hear Rachel's squeal through the door.

The gig is fine. The usual crowd is there, feeding energy to the band, singing along in their heads (and sometime out loud). The new funk versions of U2 covers work pretty well. But something is definitely missing, and Blaine doesn't figure out what it is until he's on his way back to the apartment.

Rachel meets him at the door, finger to her lips. "Kurt's been asleep for hours," she says. "He didn't even make it all the way through _Moulin Rouge_. And it's his favorite movie!"

Blaine nods and files away that bit of information. He and Kurt haven't talked about favorite movies. There are a lot of things they haven't talked about.

"Or, well... his favorite modern movie," she amends.

"I know he likes _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ ," Blaine says.

"Oh," Rachel smiles. She looks a little sad. "Yeah." But then she shakes herself. "If you want to surprise him, find something in French. Black and white."

"With subtitles?" Blaine asks.

"Kurt's pretty good at French, so it's up to you," Rachel replies. "Here. These are his DVDs. Keep them here."

Blaine looks at him. " _Mama Mia?_ "

"We used to watch that as a sing-a-long," Rachel says.

"He sings with you?" Blaine asks.

"He used to," Rachel replies.

Blaine thinks for a moment, and decides to ask. "What happened?"

Rachel blinks and shakes her head. "Sorry," she says. "That's Kurt's story to tell. In fact, I've said more than I should have."

And that's it. Blaine can't get anything else out of her, no matter what he asks. Finally, he gives up. "Are you ok to get all the way back to Bushwick? It's pretty late." Not that he wants Rachel to sleep over, but he figures he should check.

"Oh, I'm fine, don't worry about me." She's singing something in her head, something about a guy. Blaine can't quite place the song, but he doesn't care enough to follow up.

"Well, thanks, and have a safe trip home." He steps inside, waves one more time to Rachel, and shuts the door.

Kurt's eyelashes flutter as Blaine watches him for a moment, then turns to take his coat off. When he looks back, Kurt is struggling to sit up. Blaine is there in a moment, ready to support him if he needs it.

"Ready for your middle-of-the-night pain meds?" Blaine doesn't really need an answer, and heads for the kitchen to get some water.

"How was the gig?" Kurt asks as he takes the ibuprofen.

"It was good." Blaine stops and corrects himself. "Well, actually, it was weird."

"How so?" Kurt's hair is messy, but his eyes are alert. "Break-ups? Hook-ups? Fights?"

Blaine laughs. "None of those. It was just... it was weird singing there. Without hearing you."

"Yeah?" Kurt tilts his head. It is an obvious invitation, especially with the song in Kurt's head.

 _I need a refueling_ _  
I need your kiss  
Come on now and  
Plant it on my lips_

Blaine doesn't need to be asked twice.

It's morning before he realizes that he never asked Kurt any of the questions that he had been wondering about.

*

Blaine's mother calls on Saturday morning, while Kurt is in the shower. It's her usual time, and Blaine should have been prepared for it, but he's listening to Kurt singing _Rubber Ducky_ in his head. Honestly, now that Kurt is aware of what he's singing, the songs have switched from pathos to innuendo. Kurt has an audience, and he's performing. It's cute, but it's like part of Kurt is hiding behind it.

"Hi, sweetie," Blaine's mom says. "How's your friend doing?"

"Great," Blaine says. "Thank you so much for answering all of my questions while we were at the hospital."

"When's his next follow-up?" she asks.

"There isn't one," Blaine replies. "The trauma doctor said he was clear."

"That just means that he's done with _that_ doctor," she corrects him. "What about his primary care physician? Or an orthopedist? Or physical therapy?"

"Ummm." Kurt hasn't mentioned any of those, though now that his mother brings it up, Blaine remembers Kurt saying something noncommittal to part of the instructions from the nurse, way back when he was getting checked out of the hospital. "I'll ask him about it. Thanks for the reminder."

"He has a doctor, doesn't he?" Blaine's mother keeps pressing. "You know about kids these days, they never want to do preventative medicine."

"Mom. I'll ask, ok?" Blaine sighs. So it's going to be one of those calls.

And then Blaine hears the water shut off. Kurt is ready to get out of the shower. And yes, he's moving a lot better, but the tub can be slippery, and Blaine wants to be there when Kurt climbs out, just in case.

"Mom, I need to go. Talk to you later." He taps off the phone.

*

Cooper texts him later that day. It's an address and a time, with no other information. Blaine waits a couple minutes for an explanation, and then decides to just call. After all, Kurt is napping at the moment.

"Hey, Squirt!" Cooper answers.

"Coop, what's the story with that text you just sent me?"

The phone is silent for a moment. Blaine isn't sure if Cooper is looking something up, or if he has switched to another call. It's hard to tell sometimes.

"Coop?" Blaine finally asks.

"Hey, Squirt!" Cooper says again. Blaine rolls his eyes. "Yeah. You can thank me for that later."

"Coop!" Blaine insists. "Could you at least tell me what it is?"

"It's a voice-acting job," Cooper replies. "A commercial. Being recorded in New York. A chance to get your foot in the door."

"Coop..."

"You quit that play, so I figured you needed work." He pauses. "I've got to take this call. Hope your boyfriend is doing better."

The call ends before Blaine can find out exactly what Cooper has inferred about him and Kurt _this_ time.

*

Kurt insists on standing and drying the dishes after dinner. Blaine watches him move slowly around the kitchen, and worries.

"We forgot to make you an appointment to talk to your doctor," he blurts out.

Kurt finishes drying the plate he is holding, then looks up. " _We_ didn't forget," he replies. "I don't have a doctor."

So Blaine's mother was right. Blaine frowns. "But the nurse said to talk to your doctor, back when you checked out."

"And we had a follow-up appointment with the trauma doc. Which cleared us to do this." Kurt hobbles over to Blaine and kisses him, first a peck, then slower, with his tongue teasing Blaine's lips.

Blaine tries not to get distracted. " _'Your lungs aren't collapsed'_ isn't the same thing as _'totally healed,'_ Kurt."

"My aching back and swollen leg know that already, Blaine," Kurt says.

"I know they do," Blaine backs off. "It's just... shouldn't we do everything we can to make sure you heal?"

Kurt puts the plate onto the counter, gives Blaine a wicked grin, and starts singing in Blaine's head:

_And baby, I can't hold it much longer  
It's getting stronger and stronger_   
_And when I get that feeling  
I want sexual healing_

Blaine follows Kurt back into the living room. The water has gone cold by the time they go back to finish the dishes.

*

Blaine plans to bring up the DVDs, to ask Kurt if he wants to watch one of them. He would sing along, maybe use the movie as an excuse to ask Kurt more about what he likes. Maybe even ask why Kurt only sings inside his head. But they get distracted by kissing, and... well, Blaine chickens out. And then, like a bumbling fool, he tries to talk to Kurt in the afterglow of a blow job, instead.

"Why don't you ever sing out loud?" Blaine asks.

Kurt tries to brush it off with a light-hearted joke. "I thought you liked it when we sing together in your head? Something about being naked together?"

And, ok. On the surface, Kurt's right. But he's also evading the question. And putting on his clothes.

And Blaine wants answers. "Yes, Kurt," he says. "Singing in my head is intimate. But I like singing out loud, too. It says... I feel safe letting you hear all the crazy music in my head. I trust you." He bites his lip. "But maybe you don't feel the same way?" It was more than Blaine had intended to say. So far over the edge. But it's out there now, and all Blaine can do is listen to Kurt's response.

"I do feel safe with you." Kurt rolls his eyes, and, shit, this might actually be a fight. "Blaine, I'm here in your apartment. I can barely walk. I need your help getting into the shower. I was half naked just a moment ago. Trust me, Blaine, I feel safer with you than with anyone. And that includes Rachel."

A rational part of Blaine knows that he should be calmed by that. But he wants more, and he's starting to freak out here. "Physically, sure," he says. "I mean emotionally."

Kurt shakes his head and sighs. "You know the singing doesn't mean the same thing to me."

That hurts. Blaine tries hard not to show it. "But you used to sing, once upon a time." Blaine knows that he is practically whining. And he hates it. And he can't seem to stop himself. "You were in a glee club. Your closest friends still sing." He throws up his hands. "Rachel? Mercedes? They both sing all the time."

"Blaine. Please. I don't want to talk about that." He tries visibly to get himself under control. "I love singing in my head with you. But I'm not going to sing out loud. And I don't want to talk about it."

Well. Shit. So that door is closed. And locked. But Blaine isn't enough of an idiot to try to kick it in. He finally nods. "Ok. I won't bother you about this anymore." He gets off the couch, stalks into the kitchen, and decides to rearrange the cupboard with all the plates and bowls.

When he finally goes back into the living room, Kurt has fallen asleep.

*

"Hi, Mom." Blaine initiates the call this time. After all, he ended the last call abruptly. And the one before that. And his mother has given him a lot of medical advice recently. Blaine knows that he's probably skirting disaster already, and needs to make some amends.

"Blaine! Thanks for calling, sweetie. What's wrong?" And just like that, the call moves into dangerous territory.

"Nothing's wrong, Mom," Blaine tries to assure her. "I just had some free time, and I cut off both of our last calls. And I know you hate it when I do that."

"Well, thank you." She is only slightly appeased. Blaine knows the tone, a bit too well. "How is your _'friend'_ doing now?"

"Ok," Blaine replies. "You were right, Mom."

"I'm your mother. I'm always right." She waits for a beat. "About what?"

"He doesn't have a primary care doctor," Blaine says. "But from what the trauma doctor told me, he just needs to rest and let his body heal. Right?"

"Well, that's true," his mother says. "But you know how I feel about preventative medicine."

" _An ounce of preventions is worth a pound of cure,_ " Blaine quotes. "You tell me that every six months. When you start nagging me to schedule my next physical."

"And your flu shots," his mother agrees. "So why won't your ' _friend'_ see a doctor?"

"I have no idea, Mom," Blaine replies.

"I see." It sounds like his mother might be giving up the inquisition. Blaine hopes that she'll move on to gossip about the neighbors, but she doesn't. "So how did you meet this ' _friend'_? And how did you end up taking care of him after his accident?"

Blaine stifles a sigh. So this is how it's going to go. "He's the roommate of one of my castmates. You know, the one who asked my band to play at that wedding two weeks ago?"

His mother makes a noise that means _I'm listening; go on_.

"He got hit by a car while he was leaving the wedding, and they needed someone who knew how to deal with a hospital. You trained me well, Mom." Blaine hopes that the flattery will deflect her questions.

"And now he's staying with you?" Nope. Blaine's mother is relentless. And either insightful, or talking to Cooper. Or both.

"He lives in a place in Bushwick with no elevator," Blaine explains. "There are so many stairs, and then the subway, on top of it. My place is just easier to deal with."

"And you quit the play so you could take care of him." She waits for a response.

Blaine scrambles desperately for something else to talk about. "Cooper got me another job," he finally says. "A voice part for a commercial. I'm going into the studio on Wednesday."

"Well, that's good," his mother replies. "You'll have to tell me all about it."

"I promise, Mom." Blaine hopes the conversation has come to an end, because he can hear Kurt's voice singing from the kitchen. If he stays in his bedroom too long, Kurt is going to try to take over cooking and wear himself out, and Blaine doesn't want that to happen.

"Ok," his mother says. "I'll let you go. But don't hesitate to call me, or to text me during the workday. Ok?"

"Ok," Blaine agrees. "Love you."

"Love you, too," she says. "Oh, and Blaine? Make sure he's getting up and walking, ok? Don't keep him in your bed all the time."

"Mom!" Blaine blushes, horrified. "He's sleeping on the couch that Cooper got me."

"That's good," his mother says. "Call me if you need anything." And with that, she hangs up.

Blaine puts down his phone and wonders whether disaster was averted, or just postponed.

*

Kurt is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his computer. Blaine just watches him until he looks up.

"How's it going?" Blaine asks.

"Writer's block," Kurt grimaces.

"Need a break?" Blaine shakes his head when Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Not that kind of break. Want to try walking down the street a little?"

Kurt raises both eyebrows.

"It's my mom's suggestion," Blaine adds. "She says that you should walk around a little. Slowly." Blaine had texted for a few more details, after getting over the shock of his mother's oblique reference to his sex life.

Kurt shrugs, closes his laptop, and picks up the charging cable. "The computer needs a break, anyway," he says. He picks up the laptop, carries it to the living room, and bends to put it on the floor beside an outlet. He sways for a moment, and Blaine is immediately there, steadying him.

"Here, I'll do that," Blaine says. "Dizzy?"

Kurt grimaces, then nods. "Yeah. Maybe walking isn't a good idea."

"We won't go very far," Blaine says. "And you won't bend over."

"Unless I fall," Kurt adds.

"I'll be right there." Blaine replies. "You can hold onto me the whole time."

Kurt looks amused. Blaine listens for a moment, and realizes that his earworm is singing _Lean on Me_. "In that case," Kurt says, "let me find some shoes."

Kurt's shoes don't fit over his swollen foot, which means that he has to wear a pair of cheesy slippers that Al picked up when they left the hospital. Kurt looks down at himself and makes a face.

"You look fine," Blaine says.

"At least I'll fit in with the homeless people hanging out on your street." Kurt rolls his eyes. "Let's go before I change my mind."

The stairs are the worst part, it turns out. And they're the part that Kurt has navigated at least once before. They get to the bottom and turn right. Blaine takes Kurt's arm, gives him an encouraging smile, and lets his earworm out to play.

 _New York City is the place where they said_ _  
"Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side"_

Kurt looks at him, amused, and sings back.

 _I go out walkin' after midnight_ _  
Out in the moonlight  
Just like we used to do, I'm always walkin'  
After midnight, searchin' for you_

And they work their way halfway down the block, then turn and come back. Blaine grins at Kurt, imagines doing a little spin under his arm, and sings in his head.

 _He got the action, he got the motion_ _  
Oh yeah, the boy can play  
Dedication devotion  
Turning all the night time into the day  
And after all the violence and double talk  
There's just a song in all the trouble and the strife  
You do the walk, you do the walk of life  
Hm, you do the walk of life._

"Your band should try a funk version of that," Kurt suggests as they start back towards Blaine's apartment.

_And when I come home, yes I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you  
_

Blaine laughs and harmonizes on the verse.

_But I would walk 500 miles  
And I would walk 500 more  
Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles  
To fall down at your door_

"I know it wasn't that far," Kurt says. "But it felt like it."

Blaine just wraps an arm around Kurt's waist and helps him back up the stairs and into the apartment.

*

The next few days follow the same pattern. Kurt tries to write, but gets frustrated. Blaine cheers him up with walks and silly songs and sex, and avoids asking difficult or personal questions. The less he thinks about everything, the better it is.

But then it's Thursday, and Blaine has to deal with the job that Cooper found for him.

*

The voice-acting job is an embarrassment.

A squirrel. An animated squirrel, selling... Blaine isn't quite sure what, based on the script. Presumably a product name shows up at the end of the ad, but Blaine's role consists entirely of a series of incredibly bad jokes. So Blaine is already in a bad mood as he walks to the subway station on his way home.

His phone rings. "Hey, Squirt!"

Blaine sighs. "Hi, Coop."

"This is where you say _thanks for the role_ ," Cooper says.

"Thanks for the role," Blaine repeats.

"That's better. Hey, when Mom gets there, could you tell her to get me some bagels and mail them out here?"

"That's ridiculous, Coop. They'll be stale by the time they get to California." Blaine stops and mentally replays the conversation. "Wait a minute. When is Mom coming out here?"

"Tomorrow," Cooper says. "She wants to meet your boyfriend."

"Coop, stop messing with me," Blaine says.

"I'm not messing with you, Blaine. Did you really think she would take _'friend'_ at face value?" Cooper is just as good at conveying air quotes as their parents are. "Kurt's staying with you. You took him all the way to Westchester County to see a doctor."

"You don't even know where Westchester County is," Blaine points out. "You're just repeating what Mom said."

"That's true. But I told her his name."

"COOP!" Blaine shakes his head, then realizes that he's going to miss his train if he keeps arguing. "I'm going to lose cell service in a minute. But I swear, next time I see you..."

"Love you, Squirt!" Cooper says, and hangs up.

*

It's not that Blaine doesn't want his mother to meet Kurt. It's just... she hadn't been pleased about Blaine's attempted proposal two years ago. (Maybe he should have told her about it ahead of time, or even after the fact, rather than letting Cooper tell the story about Blaine needing to return a ring.) And maybe Blaine's mom is the supportive one of his parents, but she's still pretty intense.

_What if she scares Kurt away?_

_What if Kurt figures out how seriously Blaine is taking all of this, and BLAINE scares Kurt away?_

He grits his teeth and climbs the stairs into his apartment.

Kurt is lying on the couch with his feet up, but he swings his feet down and sits up when he sees Blaine. "What?"

Shit, Kurt's been writing and he's already grouchy and Blaine hasn't even explained about his mother yet.

"Sorry. It just looks like something's bothering you." Kurt tilts his head. "Was the commercial that bad?"

"The commercial was stupid, just like I knew it would be." Blaine doesn't want to talk about this, but there's no way to avoid it. "That's not it. My mom's coming to visit. She'll be here tomorrow."

Kurt looks confused.

"She wants to see you." And Blaine isn't sure if he should say this lightly, or with more weight.

"Are you saying that I should be afraid of her?" Kurt sounds like he's trying to make a joke out of it, but he's failing.

Blaine shakes his head to try to clear it. He's got to explain himself better. "She's a doctor," he tries. It's a bad explanation; Kurt knows perfectly well that his mother is a doctor and has been passing on medical advice ever since the accident.

"I don't have anything against doctors. Just hospitals," Kurt says drily. "People can do whatever work they want. I won't judge."

But that isn't it. Blaine still isn't explaining this correctly. He tries again. "It's... it will be fine. I'm sure it will be fine."

Kurt looks at him like he's starting to actually get concerned.

"She's just worried that you're not seeing anyone, that you don't have a regular doctor, that you're not being checked." And that still doesn't get to the crux of the problem, but maybe Kurt will understand.

"So this is a medical visit?" Kurt screws up his face, like he's thinking particularly hard.

"Kind of," Blaine says. "I don't know." He gathers every bit of his courage. Because all the other issues are extraneous compared to this. "Are you ready for _meeting the parents?_ " He peers at Kurt, not sure what reaction he's hoping for.

Kurt shrugs. And, well, whatever Blaine had wanted, this isn't it.

"I mean... you've never told me about your family. Never. You don't talk about them. And here's my mom, insisting on meeting you. On meeting my _boyfriend_." It's the first time either of them has used that word. And. Oh. Blaine is going to regret using it while arguing. Or freaking out. Whatever this is. "But as far as I know, you've never told your parents about me..."

And shit. The look on Kurt's face is pure pain. Is it that bad, referring to Kurt as Blaine's _boyfriend_?

"Blaine," Kurt says. "There's a reason why I've never told my parents about you. And it's not because I'm not taking this relationship seriously."

Blaine starts to breathe again.

And then gets the wind metaphorically knocked out of him. "Blaine. My parents are dead."

"Oh." _Oh my god..._ "Kurt, I'm so sorry, I had no idea..." And it's not enough, Blaine knows it's not enough.

"I didn't tell you." Kurt looks away. "And I'd rather not talk about it. Please."

He gets up and hobbles into the bathroom.

Blaine stares after him. The room is silent except for the sound of water running in the bathroom sink.

Kurt's inner song is gone.


	8. I think you'll understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blaine wants to turn into a fuzzy blanket, but mostly makes cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> I Want to Hold Your Hand

When Kurt comes out of the bathroom, he is exquisitely polite. Blaine cooks quietly. Neither of them sings.

But the delicate balance doesn't solve the immediate problem. Blaine's mother is visiting tomorrow. And Kurt is basically defenseless.

So Blaine slowly, haltingly, gives Kurt the short version of his family history. Cooper, ten years older, the first big family disappointment when he ditched college for an acting career. The divorce that had been looming for years, while Blaine tried hard to be perfect, until everything finally broke apart during the year when Blaine came out. The trust fund that survived the divorce and Blaine's ultimate decision to be a performer rather than a lawyer.

And topics that are safer emotionally for Blaine, but probably scary for Kurt. Like Blaine's mother's specialty (orthopedics), and professional title.

Kurt just listens and nods, and doesn't volunteer any information in return.

After dinner, Blaine calls his mother to set some ground rules. Well, he knows that he doesn't get to set the rules, but his mother has a reasonable amount of tact. At a minimum, he can plant a few topics for conversation, and make sure that she doesn't lead with _'so what do your parents do_ ' or _'oh, you're from Ohio, too, do we know any of the same people.'_

*

Blaine is nervous.

And he can't tell if Kurt is fussing over his clothes because Kurt is nervous, too, or because he's trying to make Blaine feel better, or because he's Kurt, and he hasn't had an opportunity to fuss over his clothes for almost two weeks.

The doorbell rings.

Blaine's mother enters.

And Blaine leaves Kurt to the mercy of his mother. It feels like chickening out, but when Blaine's mother offers him the use of her car, Blaine knows that it is actually a command. And he knows better than to disobey. Though when he gets to the store, he buys two pounds of Ghirardelli chocolate chips, despite his mom's instructions about getting healthy food. He's not sure if he's planning to use them to get Kurt back into his good graces or whether he's going to stress-eat all of them, but they called to him and demanded that he buy them.

He puts the chocolate chips in his basket, then goes looking for brown sugar, eggs, and vanilla. And shortbread and tea, for his mother. And some spinach, because if that's at the top of his bag, maybe everything else will seem healthier.

Things seem good when he gets back to his place. Kurt seems to have given his mother a list of designers of stylish-yet-professional clothes. And also hasn't tried to run away. Or been eaten alive. And the news from home is expected, except that Lucy from down the road didn't get into Princeton after all and her mother is freaking out about it.

His mother suggests talking to his dad about insurance and legal things. Which is surprising. The advice about insurance sounds important, but to bring up Blaine's dad... It's useful advice. Just emotionally costly for his mom.

Does his mom... like Kurt?

Huh.

But before Blaine can get a read on her, she stands to leave, then stops to hug Kurt. "Take care of yourselves."

Yep. She definitely likes Kurt.

"I think that went well," Blaine says, after she is gone. "What happened before I got back?"

"It was partly a doctor's visit, complete with scolding about not getting regular checkups," Kurt replies.

Blaine winces in sympathy.

"And it was partly her grilling a prospective suitor." Kurt's face is unreadable, and his inner song is silent.

Ouch. "Sorry about that," Blaine apologizes. "My mom can be a little intense."

And with that, Kurt slumps into a chair, exhausted. Blaine doesn't blame him; it's been a long day already, and it's barely after noon. But Kurt doesn't complain, or snark. "It was fine," he says, though he doesn't look fine. "It was kind of sweet."

And then... Blaine isn't sure what happens. Kurt still isn't singing in his head, and his face... it just crumples.

"Kurt?" Blaine stands, ready to help.

"I... I need a moment." Kurt stumbles to his feet, though he just sat down. He looks trapped, like he wants to escape. He still isn't singing in his head, but there's a sound. Not scared, like in the hospital. More like a small animal that's been wounded.

"Do you want to go into my room for a while?" Blaine makes the offer before thinking it through. Kurt looks at him, surprised, like it's some kind of proposition. "By yourself, I mean. I was going to start marinating something to cook for dinner, anyway."

Kurt's entire body sags. "Yes."

Blaine slips his arm around Kurt, because it looks like Kurt is about to collapse. "Come on." They move slowly out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into Blaine's bedroom.

It's the first time Kurt has been in Blaine's room. Blaine looks around for a moment, wishing that he had put away his dirty clothes and comic books and stuffed animals. But Kurt doesn't seem to be aware of any of it, so Blaine just helps him get settled on Blaine's bed.

This is not the way that Blaine had hoped to see Kurt on his bed.

He heads for the door. "I'll close this. Let me know if you need anything. Ok?"

*

Marinate the meat. That's what Blaine said he was going to do, so he does it. Mince garlic. Mix it with some olive oil and red wine vinegar. Add a little oregano and basil. Cut up some chicken breasts and add them to the container, then put the whole thing into the refrigerator. Wash the cutting board with soap and hot water, and then with bleach, because salmonella is a thing and Blaine's mother has trained him well.

The non-perishable groceries are still on the counter, so Blaine puts them away. And then he opens the cupboard door again. The chocolate chips are just sitting there. And maybe Blaine's last attempt at making cookies had turned into innuendo, but he is totally capable of making comfort food. Even if he isn't great about giving comfort, especially when he has no idea what's going on.

He creams the butter and sugar. Adds an egg, then vanilla. Then flour and salt and baking soda. Mixes it all together. Adds chocolate chips. Spoons lumps of dough onto a cookie sheet. Does not eat the dough. ( _Salmonella,_ the inner-voice-that-sounds-like-Blaine's-mom reminds him.) Preheats the oven. Puts in the sheet. Sets the timer.

Stares at the stove until the timer goes off.

Takes the cookies off the sheet and onto a cooling rack.

Stares at the cookies.

And then he hears it. Kurt's inner singing voice, soft, distant.

_I'll_

_tell you something  
I think you'll understand  
Then I'll _

_say that something  
I want to hold your hand_

Blaine looks at the cookies. And he doesn't know whether they will do any good, but they're there. He puts them on a plate and carries them to his bedroom door. Kurt's voice is still singing quietly, and Blaine joins in. It's barely a murmur, just letting the words and the music slide over his tongue, remembering the sad angel singing in the bar and the scared patient lying pale in a hospital bed.

As he bends down to put the cookies on the floor, the bedroom door opens. Kurt is standing there, eyes red and nose dripping, and Blaine's heart just breaks.

"I'm not sure I can bend down to pick those up." Kurt's voice is brittle, like the dry humor has been painted on the outside of his soul, but it's cracking and about to peel off.

And Blaine is such an idiot for not thinking about Kurt's back. He picks the plate back up. "I don't know if you're into comfort food," he apologizes. "But I thought maybe you could use some of these."

Kurt stares at them, looking like he's going to break into pieces, then sniffles loudly.

Blaine takes his arm and guides him back towards the bed. "Sorry. I guess cookies were the wrong thing to make..."

Kurt shakes his head, still staring at the cookies. "No. It's fine. It's sweet." He picks up a cookie, as if he's on autopilot, and puts it in his mouth. "Thank you."

"No problem." _At least they aren't burned_ , Blaine thinks. "You can keep the cookies in here, and I'll go. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You were singing." Kurt isn't looking at him, and his mouth is full of cookie. But Blaine knows what he means.

"I was trying to be quiet about it." Blaine wants to apologize for intruding on whatever private grief Kurt is dealing with. And he also wants to make all the grief go away. And he has no idea how to make that happen. "I just heard you, and... Well."

"It wasn't your usual style," Kurt says. He picks up another cookie.

And maybe it's that little act, that choice to accept the pathetic bit of comfort that Blaine is trying to offer, but Blaine suddenly feels the need to come clean. "Kurt. I need to tell you something. Something I should have said a long time ago."

If Kurt weren't so busy eating, or weren't so emotionally shattered by something, maybe there would have been some kind of sharp retort. But he just gestures for Blaine to keep going.

"Do you remember how I told you that I first heard you singing at a club, after callbacks for the show that Rachel and I were in?" He waits for Kurt to nod, then continues. "Well. That wasn't actually the first time I heard you." Blaine wonders if Kurt will yell at him for lying, but Kurt doesn't respond. "The first time was a few years ago, at a different club. You were singing _I Want to Hold Your Hand_." And he tells Kurt the story, of getting over a breakup, of hearing Kurt singing. "When I heard your voice singing _Blackbird_ this year, I remembered. And I realized that I had been looking for _you_ all along." It's only a fraction of what Blaine feels. But it's all he can force himself to say at the moment.

Kurt picks up Blaine's old bear, the one Cooper named Pookie, and looks at it. "The first time I sang that song, my dad was in the hospital in a coma. I was remembering how he took care of me after my mother died." He pauses, but doesn't look up. "The last time I sang it, I was at his memorial service. After he died of prostate cancer, my first year in New York." Kurt puts the bear back down, but keeps looking at it, like he's confessing his secrets to it. "I wish he could have met you. And I'm really sorry that I got your bear so wet."

Blaine blinks at the non sequitur, then sits on the bed beside him. "Kurt. If there is anything of mine that you want to cry on..." Like my pillow. Or my shoulder. "Please. Go ahead." Kurt still isn't looking at him. "And I wish I could have met him, too."

Kurt looks up at that. "He would have given you the third degree, you know. Even worse than your mother. Asked you about your plans for your life, and your favorite sports team, and threatened to kill you if you hurt me."

Blaine wishes that he were a shape-shifter, so he could turn into a fuzzy blanket and wrap himself around Kurt. Or maybe he'd rather have a time machine, so he could go back and have all those conversations with Kurt's dad, and maybe also cure cancer.

"And then he would have asked me what to get you for Christmas, and invited you for family dinners, and thanked you." Kurt's face twists. Blaine doesn't know how to read it.

"For taking care of you after getting hit by a car?" Blaine asks cautiously. Because this seems like more, but he's scared to make that leap.

"For making me happy." Kurt closes his eyes, and another tear creeps down his cheek. "He always wanted to see me happy."

Blaine wraps an arm around Kurt, like maybe he can pretend to be the fuzzy blanket that he wishes he could be. Kurt stays still for a moment, then turns his face into Blaine's shoulder. As they sit there, Blaine rubs tiny circles on Kurt's back until the sobs start to quiet.

_And when I touch you  
I feel happy inside_

Blaine sings quietly in his head. _Happy_ really isn't the right word for the moment, he thinks. But maybe it will be. Someday.


	9. I begin to think I understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is paella, and physical therapy, and songwriting, and sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Lean on Me (Bill Withers: https://youtu.be/fOZ-MySzAac)
> 
> Whenever I Call You "Friend" (Kenny Loggins: https://youtu.be/NmRh69YyKnA)
> 
> Lady Marmalade (Patti LaBelle: https://youtu.be/t4LWIP7SAjY)

One might expect that the heartfelt confessions - Kurt talking about his dad, Blaine admitting that he had fallen for Kurt years before they had actually met - would result in a glorious transformation of the relationship, into something emotionally open, with long conversations about deeply held feelings. That's what Blaine dreams of, at least.

It isn't quite like that. It's not that it's bad. It's just... different.

For example: Kurt starts texting with Blaine's mother.

Blaine doesn't know what's going on until he sees Kurt snap a photo of the bruises on his foot. They look different every day, it's true. Swollen dark-purple toes. Greenish patterns on Kurt's ankle. But... well, they aren't especially photogenic. And Kurt is otherwise so caught up in the aesthetics of everything, as if he is physically pained by ugliness. So Kurt's behavior is bizarrely out of character.

Blaine tries to make a joke out of it. "Don't tell me that someone is designing clothes with a bruise-inspired palette," he says. "You aren't going to put that photo in Vogue, are you?"

Kurt blinks at him. "I'm texting these to your mom."

Blaine puts down the knife that he's been using to chop carrots. "To my mom? Why?"

"Because your mother is a highly qualified medical professional," Kurt reminds him. "And also, she asked me to."

"Oh." It's not a bad explanation. It's just... not what Blaine expected.

Kurt's phone chimes. He looks at it, smiles, and taps a response. "Your mom says hi, by the way."

Blaine shakes his head and goes back to chopping vegetables.

*

Another surprising change: Kurt is the one who finally makes the appointment with a doctor, a regular doctor, not a specialist. And he stays calm by texting waiting-room commentary to Blaine's mother, who apparently thinks that Kurt is hilarious. Blaine would feel left out, except that Kurt reaches for his hand while they're in the examination room, after the nurse leaves and before the doctor arrives.

When they're done, and Kurt has an appointment scheduled with a physical therapist, they climb into the back of a cab to head home. Kurt pulls out his phone, probably to text more jokes to Blaine's mother, then looks up and asks the driver to go to a different address.

Blaine looks at Kurt, confused.

"Grocery store," Kurt says, as if it's some kind of rational explanation. "Have you ever made paella?"

Blaine hasn't. So they begin their first grocery adventure as a couple.

Kurt has an ingredient list on his phone, and a grocery cart to hold onto when he gets tired from walking. He sends Blaine across the store and back, finding rice and shrimp and mussels and prosciutto and chorizo and chicken. As Blaine deposits the invertebrates in the cart, he wonders if Kurt is suddenly making up for a decade of rooming with a kosher vegan.

"You've got canned tomatoes at home?" Kurt asks. "And peas? I know you always keep onions and garlic around." He looks at the list. "Oh. Paprika? The Spanish kind, not Hungarian, if you can find it. And, Blaine, wait, come back. Saffron. Get saffron."

Blaine shakes his head. "Saffron is the diva of spices," he says. "Doesn't it need to be, like, hand-picked? From pollen or something?"

"Not pollen," Kurt corrects him. "But yes, it is definitely the diva of spices."

They collect their bags of groceries and head back to the apartment. Kurt rests for a bit while Blaine puts away the groceries - it was a long outing, one of Kurt's longest since the accident, plus Blaine's mother is apparently nagging him about the need to put his feet up. But Kurt insists on getting up to help cook when it's time to start making dinner.

Blaine makes Kurt sit and read the recipe while Blaine chops and slices. Kurt keeps getting up to put the ingredients into the order in which they'll be used, which is annoying, because Blaine prefers to organize them into categories of oils and spices and vegetables, and to keep the meat separate until everything else has been dealt with.

"Trust me," Kurt says. "You don't want to have to look for anything once the oil is hot."

"Remind me of what happens first?" Blaine stares at the ingredients and the mix of cookware.

"Mix the oil, lemon juice, parsley, and garlic together," Kurt begins.

"I've done that already," Blaine says. "What's next?"

"Heat the water, saffron, and broth," Kurt reads. "Oh, wait, you also need to de-vein the shrimp. Which means cutting out that black part. Oh, and leave the tails attached." He picks up one and points.

"This is like high school biology class," Blaine grumbles. "Which is when I had to tell my mother that I wasn't cut out to be a doctor."

"Just be glad you didn't have Rachel as a lab partner," Kurt says. "We had to dissect a sponge, and she spent the entire time informing me that she wasn't allowed to touch invertebrates. Oh, and I think you can heat the broth and saffron while you're dealing with the shrimp."

"Right." Blaine turns on the burner. "Simmer, not boil. Yeah?"

"Correct. And when you're done, you'll brown the meat." Kurt frowns. "Or sauté the chicken. Which is the same thing, pretty much. Then the sausage and prosciutto - don't mix that with the chicken."

"Hold on, I'm not done with the shrimp yet," Blaine says. "Where do the mussels go?"

Kurt scrolls down the page. "They're the last step, after the rice."

"Wait, was I supposed to cook the rice already?" Blaine starts looking for another pot.

"No, it goes in after the vegetables. But before the broth," Kurt answers. "It's like risotto."

Blaine frowns at the pile in front of him. "Do the shrimp go in the broth?"

"No, they're the last step." Kurt shakes his head. "Put them in a bowl."

"I thought the mussels were the last step?" Blaine asks. This is hard to keep track of.

"I mis-read," Kurt says. "The mussels cook before the shrimp."

"Mussels first, then shrimp," Blaine repeats. "But de-vein the shrimp first."

"I think he's got it!" Kurt grins.

Blaine shakes his head. "Paella is really complicated."

Kurt laughs. "I know. Tell that to my nine-year-old self."

Blaine blinks at him. "You made paella when you were _nine_?"

Kurt just does that little shoulder shrug thing, that thing he does when something has emotional weight and he wants to share it with Blaine but simultaneously avoid talking about it. It's sexy and frustrating and adorable. One might think that all their secret inner duets would make actual talking unnecessary, but one would be wrong about that.

Blaine just keeps cutting the weird black vein things out of the shrimp and waiting for more instructions. Or better, for the next little clue about Kurt's emotional past.

It doesn't come until they have cleaned up the mess on the table, plated the meal, and eaten it. It's good.

Kurt rests his hurt arm on the table. "Thank you," he says. "It was going to be a stressful day, and it ended up being wonderful. Thank you for indulging my need for comfort food."

"Paella is your comfort food?" Blaine is amused. "Most people go for chocolate chip cookies and grilled cheese with tomato soup. Not a dish that involves two invertebrates and the diva of spices."

Kurt mimes a diva-esque head toss. It's a perfect imitation of Rachel, and Blaine starts laughing. "My dad agreed with you," Kurt says when they can finally manage to speak. "He told me that I should try making meatloaf or something next time. Though honestly, meatloaf is a lot of work, too."

"You made paella for your dad when you were nine?" Blaine puts the pieces of the conversation together. "What did he think of the diva spice?"

"Fortunately, I was too young to realize that we were eating the sex organs of a sterile flower," Kurt grins. "He would have been confused. Maybe horrified."

Blaine leans across the table and threads his fingers through Kurt's. Under the laughter, Blaine can hear a hint of _I Want to Hold Your Hand_ , and he knows that food isn't the only kind of comfort that Kurt needs.

*

And then there is the discussion about clothes.

They sit on the couch, sorting out the pile of underwear and pants that were flung off in their latest fit of passion.

"These are definitely yours," Kurt says, holding up Blaine's boxers. They are bright red with blue stripes, and yes, they are easy to tell apart from Kurt's more subtle patterns.

Blaine takes them and pulls them on. "Thanks."

Kurt is still looking at him. Blaine glances down, wondering if he has put them on backwards or something, or if he has cum on his shirt. It would show on the black, especially if it dried there.

"Your underwear is always so bright," Kurt says. "And then your jeans and shirts mostly aren't."

Blaine shrugs.

"And all your old cups and bowls are primary colors, but this blanket is black and white patterns." Kurt tilts his head. "It's like you have two competing designers inside you, or something."

"Most of the bright stuff is old," Blaine says. "Except for the underwear. I buy new underwear when I need it." He feels a need to make that absolutely clear.

"Things that are old, and things that stay hidden," Kurt muses.

"I used to wear a lot more bright things," Blaine admits. "I stopped when I got to college."

"You got an emo makeover in college?" Kurt teases.

Blaine shrugs.

"It doesn't matter to me, you know," Kurt says. "It's possible to have a sense of style with any kind of palette. And you happen to look good in both of them."

*

Need another example? How about discussions about jobs?

"Hey, Squirt!"

Blaine rolls his eyes and holds the phone away from his ear. "Hi, Coop." He's in the kitchen, putting away dishes. Kurt is at the table, laptop open, preparing to write.

"Want another job?" Cooper asks. He's loud enough that the entire world can hear him, even though he isn't on speaker.

Kurt looks up, interested. Blaine mimes walking into the other room, in case Cooper is distracting Kurt from his work, but Kurt shakes his head. Ok. So Blaine stays. "It depends on the job. Is it another rodent?"

"No, I think this one is a bird," Cooper says. "Tomorrow. 2 pm. Same studio."

"Coop, can't you give me more warning than this?" Blaine complains.

"You have something planned?" Cooper asks.

Kurt shakes his head vigorously, and makes a gesture that might mean _take it_.

"No, I'm free," Blaine replies. "But it would be nice to get a little more warning."

"You want to make demands? Get an agent," Cooper advises.

"You complain about your agent all the time," Blaine reminds him.

"Speaking of which, he's calling me right now," Cooper says. "Bye."

Blaine looks at Kurt and rolls his eyes.

"You don't like the commercials very much," Kurt observes.

"I mean, they're technically _work_ ," Blaine says. "But an animated bird is hardly my dream role."

Kurt tilts his head. "You liked the role in that show with Rachel," he says.

Blaine shrugs and nods.

"Do you regret giving it up?" Kurt asks.

Blaine shakes his head. "Never." He walks across the kitchen, pulls up a chair beside the table and takes Kurt's hands. "Kurt. I would NEVER regret this."

Kurt smiles a little, then shakes his head. "I wasn't looking for help with my insecurities," he says.

Blaine wrinkles his nose.

"I mean, I appreciate it," Kurt backpedals. "It's just... Blaine, you know you're really talented, right?"

Blaine shrugs.

"Seriously. You sing, you dance, you act..."

" _Voice_ act," Blaine corrects him. "As semi-cute animals in very bad commercials."

"You write songs," Kurt continues. "And don't put them off as silly love songs. I hear them in my head, Blaine. They're not awful."

Blaine grimaces, though he knows that was a pretty big compliment coming from Kurt.

"I lived with Rachel and her dreams for ten years, Blaine," Kurt says. "I know talent. AND I know the hard work that goes into getting even the smallest break. And how soul-crushing it can be when things don't work out."

Blaine glances away.

Kurt shrugs. "Just... keep taking the voice parts, ok? Even if they're ridiculous. And if you ever want a critic for your songs..." He looks shy for a moment. "I'll listen. And I promise not to be too horrible to you. Constructive criticism only."

Blaine nods. Kurt is far too cute to say _'no'_ to.

*

And then there's physical therapy.

Kurt raises the umbrella over his head.

The physical therapy exercise didn't specify an _umbrella_. At the appointment, the therapist gave Kurt a light-weight stick and had him lift it with his good arm, passively carrying the hurt arm with it, as high as it could go. But Blaine doesn't have physical therapy tools in his apartment, and after trying and discarding everything from rolls of wrapping paper (too floppy) to Blaine's guitar (too heavy, and also a weird shape), they had decided on the umbrella.

"This is the worst choreography I've ever been subjected to," Kurt grumbles. "At least since I was a sophomore in high school."

"Hold it for five seconds, remember," Blaine encourages him. "Good. Now down. Ok. Lift it again."

Kurt grins with the most maniacal show face that Blaine has ever seen and lifts the umbrella up to his forehead. He can barely get it that high without hurting, Blaine knows. Which is why distracting Kurt with conversation is so important.

"What was so bad about the sophomore year choreography?" Blaine asks.

"I had a growth spurt." Kurt holds his arms up as high as he can. "Suddenly I had all this extra body that I didn't know what to do with."

"Ok, that's all of those," Blaine says. "The next thing on the list involves lying down and bending your leg." He goes to the couch and moves the pile of pillows and blankets to give Kurt room to spread out.

Kurt lies back, then closes his eyes for a second.

"Does that hurt?" Blaine asks.

"No. Just a head rush." Kurt rests for a moment more, then opens his eyes. "It's better now."

"Ok. Bend your knee and slide your heel towards your ass." Blaine watches, then nods. "Yeah. Like that."

Kurt grimaces as he tries to bend his leg past ninety degrees. "Ugh. I'll have you know that I used to be the most limber person in the Glee Club. Well, except for Brittany. And Mike Chang. But I don't think Mike actually had bones."

"Really?" Blaine says. "Tell me more. Well, straighten your leg and do that again, and then tell me more."

"I could raise my foot over my head." Kurt closes his eyes and breathes through the stretch.

"Five, four, three, two, one," Blaine counts down. The numbers help prevent his brain from shorting out, imagining the positions that might be possible with that kind of flexibility. Which is maybe getting ahead of himself, given that their current sexual activity consists of blow jobs and mutual masturbation. He blinks and re-focuses. "And straighten out the leg again."

Kurt bends and straightens his leg several more times, then sits up. He manages it without any support this time.

"Nice," Blaine says.

"Ibuprofen?" Kurt requests. "And a hot pad for my shoulder?"

"Not yet," Blaine says. "There's one more exercise. Lifting your knee, like marching." He moves closer to the couch. "It says to use something for balance if you need it." He raises his eyebrows.

Kurt sings at Blaine in his head ( _we all need somebody to lean on_ ) and puts his hands on Blaine's shoulders.

"Ok. Lift one knee, then the other. Slowly." Blaine nods encouragingly.

"Oh, so this one is a _slow_ dance," Kurt says.

"Yes," Blaine smiles. "Again."

"You're a relentless dance instructor," Kurt says. "You should spin me next."

"Just slow dancing for now," Blaine says as Kurt raises his leg one more time. "Ok. That's good."

Kurt doesn't move for a moment, then slides one hand down Blaine's arm and sways back and forth. Blaine wraps an arm around Kurt's back and pulls him closer.

"It's harder to stay in time without music," Kurt murmurs.

Blaine starts to sing quietly.

 _Whenever I call you friend_ _  
I begin to think I understand_

Kurt starts to harmonize in his head, until they get to the faster part of the song.

"At this point in a performance, we would spin apart and start doing jazz hands or something," Kurt says.

Blaine laughs.

Kurt tries to spin away, then winces. "Maybe the ibuprofen would be good now."

Blaine goes to get the pills and the water, then finds the hot pad. Kurt settles on the couch, leaning back against the bolster, and frowns at his foot. Blaine picks up the pillows and stacks them under it.

"Your mom says that _'elevate'_ means above the heart," Kurt says. "But I get dizzy when I lie down all the way. And I can't pull off high kicks anymore."

Blaine eyes him carefully. "Let's see how flexible you are." He slides in beside the pillows, then turns and sits cross-legged, facing Kurt. "Ok if I lift your leg?"

"I'll shriek like Rachel if it hurts," Kurt promises.

Blaine grins at him, then carefully lifts Kurt's foot onto Blaine's shoulder. "You're not shrieking," Blaine notes. "So... ok?"

"Yes," Kurt says. "Especially with the pillows under my knee." He smiles up at Blaine.

Blaine runs his hand along Kurt's calf, and imagines this position, except naked, and with moans and sweat rather than supportive pillows.

*

And then there's the time that Blaine decides that he wants Kurt in his bed. Not on the couch.

"Do you want to hear something?" Blaine has been working on a song all afternoon, while Kurt sat in the kitchen and wrote an article for Vogue.

Kurt puts his plate in the sink. "Is it gossip, or music?" he asks. "I mean, I'm game either way."

"It's music," Blaine says. "The song I've been working on."

Kurt looks intrigued. "The one I've been hearing bits of?" he asks. Then he pauses. "Wait. Just to be clear. Do you want a fan, or a critic?"

"A critic," Blaine says. "Do your worst to me, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "You're the one who's asking for it."

Blaine grins at him. It isn't the most personal song that he has written, but it's a little flirty. And he thinks that Kurt might like this one. But he really does want to make it better, too. "I'll get my guitar."

Kurt heads for the couch. Blaine cleaned in the morning, while Kurt was in the shower, thinking about Kurt's flexibility and comfort with different positions and... well. He moved Kurt's things out of the way, into the bedroom, and he hasn't brought them back. Blaine's heart rate has been elevated all day, even while he was working on his song.

For right now, that just means that there is more space on the couch.

Blaine picks up his guitar, settles into the chair, and starts to sing. When he's done, he waits for a reaction.

Kurt looks thoughtful. "The innuendo was a little too obvious," he says. "It should be a subtle tease."

"And this was like a bad pick-up line?" Blaine asks.

"I didn't say that," Kurt waffles. "A moderately ridiculous pick-up line, maybe."

Blaine plays it back in this mind. "Ok. Fine. You're right."

"Sing it again?" Kurt suggests. "Let me think about it. There might be other ways to say what you mean."

Several experiments later, they've come up with lyrics that fit Blaine's purpose, but don't make Kurt cringe.

Blaine nods in satisfaction, then puts away his guitar. "I still need to do the dishes," he says. "Want to watch a movie after?"

"I'll help you," Kurt offers. "Watch this." He gets up and walks steadily towards the kitchen, then turns back. It's not quite spinning on his heel, but it's fairly smooth. And most importantly, it looks comfortable.

Blaine claps. Kurt bows, then goes into the kitchen and turns on the water. Blaine follows him and picks up a dish towel. If Kurt wants to show that he's feeling good enough to stand and wash dishes, Blaine is perfectly happy to lean against the counter and watch him.

Kurt notices. "Like what you see?"

Blaine smiles. "Always." He dries the last of the dishes. "So. Movie night?"

"Sounds lovely," Kurt says. "What do you want to watch?"

"I picked last time," Blaine says. "It's your turn."

"Let's see how obscure your streaming services get." Kurt rubs his hands together in anticipation.

Kurt finds something black and white, in French. Blaine is amused; that's exactly what Rachel had predicted that Kurt would want.

"Subtitles, or not?" Kurt asks.

"I took French at Dalton," Blaine replies.

"Yeah?" Kurt looks intrigued. "How fluent are you?"

Blaine shrugs.

"It's a challenge, then," Kurt says. "We can pause the movie and go back if it doesn't make sense."

The movie takes twice as long that way, especially because neither of them is as fluent as he thought he was, and they keep coming up with absurd, dirty-sounding translations.

" _Double entendre_ is kind of French, anyway," Kurt reminds Blaine when they finally stop giggling.

It's late when the movie ends. Kurt yawns. "I should get that bolster."

Blaine looks at him. He's desperately horny from four hours of flirting on the couch, and from trying to find the perfect innuendo while song-writing, and from watching Kurt wash dishes and stretch during his exercises and... Ok. Maybe Blaine has just been horny, all day, from thinking about Kurt.

So he stands up and starts to sing. Out loud.

_Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?  
Voulez vous coucher avec moi?  
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?  
Voulez vous coucher avec moi?_

Kurt raises an eyebrow. " _Mais oui_."

"In my bed?" Blaine asks. Because there's a time for innuendo, and there's a time to be direct. "I mean, you've been lying down to do some of your exercises, and it looks like your back isn't hurting so much, and..."

"Yes." And damn, breathless Kurt is even sexier than normal Kurt. And that's saying a lot.

So Blaine takes Kurt's hand, and they go into the bedroom.

Blaine can't decide on his favorite part of having Kurt in his bed.

Is it the sex? Sure, it's amazing. The slow undressing. The anticipation as Kurt watches Blaine find the lube and condom. The touch of Kurt's fingers on Blaine's ass, and the careful probing. The feel of Kurt underneath Blaine, and the pressure inside combined with the background song in Kurt's head, just notes, flowing around and over Blaine, like he's being touched from all sides as Blaine shifts until _oh fuck yes right there_ and somehow Kurt's hand is on Blaine's cock and Kurt is moaning Blaine's name out loud while singing in Blaine's head.

Yeah. The sex is pretty good.

So is the clean-up, which turns into kissing, short teases turning into slow, gentle exploration.

But the best part, maybe, is curling up beside Kurt, and watching his eyes drift shut, and wondering whether Kurt always sleeps on his back like this. If he weren't hurt, what would his favorite sleeping position be? Spooned against Blaine's back? Or would Kurt be the little spoon? Or would he use Blaine's chest as a pillow and fall asleep sprawled across him? Does Kurt twitch or mumble nonsense words in his dreams ? Does he steal all the blankets, or throw them off in the middle of the night? Does he sleepwalk?

As Blaine falls asleep, he realizes that he wants to discover the answers to those questions for himself. And he wants to fall asleep with Kurt, not just tonight, but every night, as long as it takes to know everything, and then longer.

*

Blaine wakes up to an empty bed.

He wonders if he dreamed everything, both the sex and the cuddling. But he's sore, and Kurt's bolster is still there on one side of the bed. So maybe Kurt decided to just leave, it wouldn't be the first time that Blaine had thought _forever_ while his partner was planning to end things...

Before Blaine's sleepy brain can remember how ridiculous it would be for Kurt to run away while he's still convalescing, Blaine hears a song, and footsteps, and then Kurt is there, in the bedroom doorway.

"Hey," Kurt says, and sunlight may be streaming in through the window, but it's not as bright as Kurt's smile.

"Hey," Blaine replies. And he's a bit more hesitant than he was when he fell asleep. "Did you sleep ok?"

"Like a baby," Kurt says. "Or maybe not like a baby. That would actually be disturbing. I slept like a man who just had such gloriously beautiful sex that he forgot that his ribs were broken."

Kurt may roll his eyes at himself, but the response is just what Blaine needs to flip from nerves to fantasies again. "And how are the ribs feeling?" Blaine asks.

"A little sore. Just because I skipped my midnight drugs. Not from the sex." Kurt smiles again at the last part.

Blaine's heart starts singing again. "Do they feel good enough to come back to bed?" he asks. "Because I have fantasies about waking up to a kiss."

Kurt doesn't answer. He just climbs back into the bed, kisses Blaine, and leans back on his bolster. Blaine turns so he can watch him, and thinks about all the things he wants to do. This morning, yes. But also tomorrow and the night after and forever.

"I'm not asking for another round," Blaine clarifies. "I just want to lie here and look at you."

Kurt blushes.

"And then I want to get up, and make two omelets, and feed one to you in bed." He looks at Kurt hopefully.

But Kurt is shaking his head. "No," he says. "You are not doing that. I can handle my own silverware, and being fed would be messy, and would remind me of the hospital."

Blaine winces internally. God, he's going to keep doing this, saying the wrong thing, isn't he. But out loud, he tries to be calming. "Then I certainly wouldn't feed you. And I wouldn't even bring you breakfast in bed, if that would bring back awful memories."

Kurt reaches for Blaine's hand and holds it. Their hands are lying on top of Blaine's heart, but he doesn't think Kurt notices. "I think breakfast in bed would be overdoing it," Kurt says. "But I am happy to just lie here for a while."

Blaine squeezes Kurt's hand. "That will do," he says.

But he wants more. So much more. It terrifies him, how much he wants.

*

The second time Blaine wakes up, it's because he is being kissed. And silently sung to, which, _oh, god_. The first thing Blaine does is to kiss Kurt back. The second thing is to run his hands along Kurt's torso, and to roll them both over so that Kurt won't have to lean on his bad arm while making out. They bump and jostle as they get rearranged, getting hips and thighs into the correct places.

Blaine raises his eyebrows. Kurt smirks back, and presses his hips against Blaine's thigh again. Oh. _Yeah._ Blaine twists his hips slightly so that Kurt can feel Blaine's erection, too, then slides his hands along Kurt's sides.

Kurt makes a sound that might be a hum, or might be a purr. But whatever it is, it's out loud. It sends shivers down Blaine's spine, just letting him imagine what it might be like if Kurt allowed all of the sounds inside him to escape. Blaine unbuttons Kurt's pajama shirt, touching and nuzzling every bit of skin, looking for the places that will trigger those sounds. Kurt wriggles under his hands, then rucks up Blaine's t-shirt until Blaine pulls away enough to remove it. And then they're back to the slow exploration. Kurt seems fascinated by Blaine's hair, threading his fingers through the tangles. Blaine lets him, even though Kurt has to tug to get his fingers past remnants of the gel that held Blaine's hair in place yesterday. But Blaine can only stay still for so long, because Kurt's skin disappears under his pajama bottoms just above his hips, and Blaine needs to trace the curve of the bones from Kurt's ass to his groin. Kurt lets Blaine run his fingers under Kurt's waistband for a moment, then lifts his hips so Blaine can pull all the clothes off. After a moment, Kurt raises an eyebrow at Blaine, then shoots a pointed look at Blaine's underwear. Blaine pushes his boxers down and tosses them across the room, and then both men are naked.

They stop touching for a moment and look at each other. It doesn't last long; both cocks twitch, as if they know they're being watched, and both pairs of hands decide to address those needs. Kurt slides his hands down Blaine's body, from his hair to his shoulders to his hips, ending with one slow caress that just brushes the tip of Blaine's cock. Blaine responds by running his hands along the edges of Kurt's ass, then bringing them forward and stroking Kurt. And then it's a competition to see what can fit where, a chaos of grasping hands and thrusting hips that ends in a surprisingly guttural moan from Kurt. Blaine has no idea what kind of sounds he is making; all he knows is that his brain shorts out briefly.

When Blaine's brain can function again, he reaches over Kurt to find the cloth from last night. He had wisely rinsed it off while Kurt was putting on his pajamas, so it's not too stiff and crusty. His attempts to dab the semen off of Kurt's belly aren't nearly enough like a caress, but they'll do.

Kurt lies back and smiles at him. "I slept in a bed."

Blaine raises his eyebrows and cleans off the last bit of cum from himself.

"And had sex," Kurt adds. "Glorious, pain-free sex."

Blaine is amused. For a writer, Kurt doesn't get to the point very quickly. "What do they call that in your business? Burying the lede?"

Kurt shrugs. "I don't know. I was more worried about sleeping through the night in a bed than anything else." He smirks. "I fantasized about the sex. But I worried about the healing."

The teasing tone takes some of the edge away. Blaine lies back and starts to relax.

And then Kurt drops the bombshell. "So now I know I can sleep in a bed, walk up stairs, and ride the subway. I could go back to Bushwick."

Blaine panics. "Kurt," he blurts out, "I love you."

Kurt just smiles. He doesn't get it, doesn't realize how much Blaine is saying, oh shit...

"That's the first time I've said that," Blaine says. Oh fuck. He's said too much...

"No, it isn't." And Kurt is arguing the point. ARGUING. "You've been saying it for two months. You even sang it to me at Tina's wedding. That song from some old TV show, about _I think I love you..._ "

And fine. Yes. Blaine has been thinking those words for a long time, as far back as the first time that he heard Kurt's inner song at that bar. But that's not the point. "Those were lyrics," Blaine tries to explain. "Lyrics in published songs. These are _my_ words. My _own_ words."

Kurt just doesn't get it. "But so were the lyrics," he says.

Blaine dies a little inside.

And then, finally, Kurt realizes the significance of the moment. "I mean... I love you too."

But Blaine is saying more than just that. He tries one more time to get the point across. "Kurt." Blaine looks at him, as if eye contact will make it easier to communicate. "I love you. And I want you to stay. Here. With me."

Kurt just stares at him. It's not really a reaction. At least, not the reaction that Blaine dreams about.

Oh, shit.

"Blaine," Kurt finally says. "I've got an apartment of my own, I've got a ROOMMATE, I can't just leave Rachel..."

Blaine's heart sinks to his toes. In all of his fantasies about true love, he had never imagined that he would lose a competition with a straight platonic friend and female ROOMMATE.

Kurt calls him back. "Blaine. I do love you." He sits up and looks Blaine in the eye. "Just... let me talk to Rachel. Ok?"

It's not very reassuring.


	10. There are voices that want to be heard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are clothes to get rid of, and clothes to acquire, and memories of the past, and possibilities for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Listen To Your Heart (Roxette: https://youtu.be/yCC_b5WHLX0)  
> My Shot (Hamilton)  
> Blackbird  
> Hold Me Now (Thompson Twins: https://youtu.be/H9694K85Xc8)

Blaine leaves Kurt at a coffee house so Kurt can talk to Rachel. It's the place where they first met, at least officially, and it seems symbolic. Maybe not in a good way. The coffee shop was a turning point - starting to know Kurt as a person, rather than as a fantasy. What if this is a transition, too? What if Blaine built everything up in his head while Kurt was injured?

What if it isn't real?

He takes the long way back to his apartment, walking through crowded streets, listening. It has been weeks since Blaine deliberately listened to any song other than Kurt's. Once upon a time, Blaine had loved the brilliant cacophony of the world's emotions. Now... now he's trying to find that same joy, but without the one voice that makes everything else so vivid.

Al and Wes will probably take him out drinking, like they always used to do when Blaine would get dumped. And it's not going to help, because Blaine will keep listening for a particular angelic voice commenting about an off-key singer or whispering innuendo in his ear.

He stops at a bakery and decides not to buy cookies, after all. Coffee isn't appealing, either. Maybe he should just go home and play his guitar, write a depressed song about love that doesn't work out. Except that Blaine will want feedback from someone with better taste than he has.

Dammit.

His phone buzzes with a text from Rachel, telling him that she will make sure Kurt gets safely back to Blaine's place, and they're on their way.

Blaine doesn't know if he wishes the text had come from Kurt. But he heads back to the apartment to wait, anyway.

*

Blaine picks up the Times on his way back to the apartment, mostly so he'll have something to hold in his hands and look at when Kurt gets back. He settles into the chair. Not the couch. That's Kurt's place. If Kurt leaves... Shit. If Kurt leaves, maybe Blaine can sell the couch to a thrift store or something. He tries to settle his brain by flipping through the newspaper. There are a lot of words. He doesn't read any of them.

The door opens. They're back. Rachel looks excited, but she always looks excited. Kurt looks worried.

Kurt doesn't say anything until Rachel is gone.

"Rachel wants to move out of the apartment in Bushwick. It turns out that she has a secret boyfriend. Jesse St. James." There's no prelude. No emotional explanation. Kurt's words just spill out.

Everything is hard, so Blaine focuses on the least important part of the statement. "Secret?"

Kurt quirks an eyebrow. "You knew?"

It's never seemed that important, but Blaine brought it up, so now he needs to follow through. "She sings about him in her head," he says. "All the time. You haven't heard it?"

"I learned to ignore Rachel when she sings. A long time ago." Kurt looks thoughtful. "Apparently some of the singing was inside her head, and I never realized it."

"You ignore the singing?" Blaine still doesn't understand how Kurt hears things. Or doesn't hear things. "Why? I mean, the whole world sings... I love it. It's amazing." And if Blaine hadn't been listening, he never would have met Kurt.

"Because some of it is awful?" Kurt makes a face. "Because it's overwhelming, being bombarded with everyone's inner playlists? Shutting things out keeps me sane. I can hear, but I usually don't want to listen."

And there's the root of the problem. Blaine wants to let things in. Kurt wants to shut them out. To shut _him_ out. Shit. This is the end.

"Blaine." Kurt is trying to get his attention back. "I didn't want to listen... until you showed up. And I can't... I WON'T... stop listening to you. In my head or out loud. Ok?"

And Blaine might not be inclined to believe it that easily, except that Kurt is also singing in Blaine's head, and he doesn't seem to know it.

 _Listen to your heart when he's calling for you_ _  
Listen to your heart, there's nothing else you can do_

Blaine nods. Kurt reaches out and takes Blaine's hand and squeezes it. He doesn't say anything else until Blaine squeezes back.

"Rachel and I just paid this month's rent, and our lease goes through August. But we can probably give notice before the end of the month, if we want." He looks at Blaine, as if waiting for a reaction.

Blaine isn't sure there was a question there, so he doesn't say anything.

After a moment, Kurt continues. "I've got a lot of stuff that I'll need to deal with. Maybe more than Rachel has. So it might take more than a month."

It's a lot of details. Blaine isn't sure what the point is, exactly.

Kurt must be able to read Blaine's uncertainty on his face. "So what I'm saying is... I can move in with you." He squeezes Blaine's hand for emphasis.

Oh. So that was a yes...?

If Kurt had answered enthusiastically this morning, when Blaine first suggested that Kurt stay with him, Blaine would have gotten up and sung something, maybe done a little dance. But after all the waiting and worrying, that moment has passed.

Blaine finally looks at Kurt and decides to joke. "Way to bury the emotional lede again there, Kurt."

"Sorry," Kurt grimaces. "I keep doing that. I don't mean to."

And... maybe that's enough. Maybe it will need to be enough.

Blaine pulls Kurt into a tentative hug. "I'll start making space for your stuff."

*

Blaine throws himself into clearing space for Kurt's things. If he can't sort through the emotional problems, at least he can deal with the physical ones.

The books are the easiest things to go through. Why, exactly, had Blaine kept every book he bought in college? Including the things that he didn't like, and several that he never finished because he had been rehearsing for a play during those weeks?

The bow ties are a more difficult decision, though again, some of them have never even been worn. Kurt comments on the quality of the fabric, and Blaine finally decides to just sell them online, in case someone else collects them.

And then there are the clothes.

"I've never even seen you in this," Kurt says. "In any of these."

"And _that_ would be why they're going to Goodwill," Blaine replies.

"They aren't all old, though." Kurt holds up a pair of bright red jeans. "These are last year's style."

"And completely out of date now," Blaine finishes, taking them and putting them in the box to give away.

"What about this?" Kurt holds up a shirt. "You bought it this year."  
  
Blaine frowns. "How do you know that?"

"I'm a fashion writer, Blaine. They changed the cut of the sleeves after last season. I know these things." Kurt holds the shirt out of his reach. "No. I'm not letting you give this away until you explain why the _'keep'_ versus _'go'_ piles are sorted by color. Or lack thereof."

Blaine gives his head a little shake. "Fine. I have a shopping problem. Ok?"

Kurt tilts his head. "Some people prefer to call it _'retail therapy,'_ " he says. "And people buy things for a reason." He looks at the shirt, then at the pile of pants. "You liked these once, when they were on shelves in a store. Why don't you wear them?"

Blaine shrugs. "It's never really the right time," he says.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Blaine. If you had a giant collection of cummerbunds, or velvet smoking jackets, or Mickey Mouse ties, then fine. _'Not the right time'_ might be a valid excuse. But these are sweaters and jeans and shirts. You wear things like these every day... just in shades of black and grey."

Blaine shrugs again.

Kurt sighs. "Take off your pants."

"What?" Blaine blinks at him.

"You heard me. Take off your pants." Kurt puts his hands on his hips and waits.

Blaine finally unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down.

"Exactly," Kurt says.

Blaine shakes his head in confusion. "Exactly what?"

"Your underwear, Blaine." Kurt looks at it. "What color is it?"

Blaine looks down. "Umm. Yellow. With green spots."

"I rest my case." Kurt puts the shirt into a pile to keep.

"Please don't use pretend lawyer-speak while I'm in my underwear," Blaine says. "It's disturbing. And I need you to explain the point. Because I'm not getting it."

Kurt eyes him. "You buy bright-colored clothes, but you only wear them if they stay hidden."

Blaine sighs. "Ok. Fine. I have bad taste. Can we move on?"

"When did I say you had bad taste?" Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Those are your words. Not mine. I happen to like this shirt, though it works better with your coloring than with mine." He walks over to Blaine and puts his hands on Blaine's shoulders. "Blaine. Who told you that the clothes you like are _'bad taste'_?'"

Blaine glances down. "Is it ok if I button my jeans first?"

Kurt smirks.

Blaine pulls up his pants. "It's not a sexy conversation," he says. "And it's not that big of a deal."

Kurt sits on the bed beside him. "Just tell me." He waits for a moment, then sighs. "Ok. I'll get you started. Last time we talked about your secret fondness for bright colors, you mentioned getting an emo makeover when you started college."

"You're the one who called it that," Blaine points out.

Kurt shrugs.

"Ok. Fine. Yes, when I started college, I wore bright colors. And then I realized that they weren't appropriate." Blaine shrugs.

"And who told you that?" Kurt prods.

"Everybody?" Blaine shakes his head. "The grad student TA for my lit class? The guy who reviewed my first band?"

Kurt frowns. "What did the review say?" He shakes his head when Blaine shrugs. "No. You most certainly _do_ remember it. I can tell. Spill."

"Ok, fine," Blaine sighs. "He called us _'alt-preppy.'_ "

Kurt tilts his head. "And that's a bad thing?"

Blaine shrugs. "Yes?"

Kurt shakes his head. "It's not bad. Well, not necessarily. It might take work to pull it off effectively. But Blaine, _unique_ and _bad_ aren't the same thing."

The skepticism probably shows on Blaine's face. After all, he had spent high school in a uniform.

Kurt picks up several pairs of pants and three more shirts and puts them in the pile to keep. "Start small," he says. "But clothes are a valid form of self-expression. Wear what you like."

"Says the fashion critic." Blaine gives Kurt a pointed look.

"Wear what you like, and wear it with panache," Kurt amends. "But you're amazing. Let people see it."

*

"I talked to Rachel about going out to Bushwick and going through our stuff," Kurt says.

"Yeah?" Blaine replies. He flips the omelet and turns away from the stove. "Did you find a time that works for her?"

Kurt looks amused. "You know Rachel. We never actually got around to talking about that. But she had something else for us."

Blaine sprinkles the cheese on the omelet, then folds over the eggs. "You're not going to make me guess what it is, are you?"

"Ok, fine," Kurt grumbles. "Take all the fun out of it." But he grins at Blaine to let him know he's joking. "She invited us to the preview of the show. We get to see it with the reviewers."

"I thought you didn't review your friends." Blaine points out, as he flips the omelet one more time.

"We're not invited as reviewers," Kurt says. "We're guests and friends of the show. And we're invited to the afterparty. Because, you know, you were part of the cast." He looks at Blaine. "You do want to go, don't you?"

Blaine shrugs. "The show, plus the afterparty? That sounds really long. Are you sure you're recovered enough to manage it?" He tips the pan, and the omelet slides onto a plate.

Kurt laughs. "To see Rachel in her first professional role? You'd have to hit me with another car to keep me away." He winks at Blaine. "Also, we need to go shopping."

Blaine blinks. "Huh?"

"Because events like these are what shopping is made for." Kurt takes the omelet that Blaine hands him and heads for the table.

*

"Hello," Blaine says into the phone. "I would like to speak to Isabelle Wright, please."

"May I ask who's calling?" the receptionist asks.

"My name is Blaine Anderson," he says. "I'm calling about Kurt Hummel."

Blaine expects to be on hold for a long time, but it's only a moment before he hears a woman's voice. "What happened? Is Kurt ok?"

"He's fine," Blaine says. "Is this Ms. Wright?"

"Yes. 'Isabelle' to you. You're Kurt's Blaine, right? It's wonderful to finally meet you." Her voice tumbles over itself. Blaine can already tell why Kurt likes her. Though maybe it's being referred to casually as _Kurt's Blaine_ that does it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, too," Blaine says. "I'm sure you're busy, Ms. Wright, so I'll be quick. I need some advice about clothes. And Kurt."

"Kurt is the last person in the world to need a makeover," she says. "And I told you to call me _'Isabelle.'_ "

"Right. Isabelle." Blaine gathers his thoughts. "Kurt and I have been invited to his roommate's Broadway preview, plus the afterparty. Kurt wants to shop for something to wear, but I'm worried that shopping will wear him out, given his recovery and everything."

"A Broadway preview!" Isabelle says. "How exciting. But a party, too? Is Kurt feeling that much better?"

"He's riding the subway and walking up stairs," Blaine says. "But he has to rest and put his feet up a lot, and his back hurts if he sits for too long. We've shopped for groceries and gone to coffee shops, but I'm worried that he'll be on his feet for a much longer time if we're buying clothes."

"Tell him that he's supposed to be resting!" Isabelle commands. "You're right. I know Kurt, and I know he won't pace himself, not if he's trying to find the perfect thing to wear to support his friend." She's quiet for a moment. "Can you come to the Vogue office? I have an idea."

"I... could probably be there this afternoon," Blaine says. "Or some other time. My schedule is pretty open."

"Tomorrow would be better for me," Isabelle says. "We're going to find the perfect thing for our Kurt to wear. And I'll help you do it."

*

There's a young man at the Vogue reception desk. When Blaine gives his name, the man looks him over.

"So you're the guy who snagged Kurt," the man says. He keeps looking at Blaine, then nods. Blaine isn't sure what judgment has been passed. "Ms. Wright is waiting for you."

Isabelle leads him into a back room.

Blaine looks around, wide-eyed. "This isn't the famous Vogue vault, is it?" Kurt had described it with the hushed tones usually reserved for descriptions of holy places by people with strong religious beliefs.

"No. Sorry," Isabelle replies. "You're going to a party. With food and drink. I need to be a _little_ responsible about this." She leads him past a rack of dresses, towards the suits. "These are the vault rejects. Which doesn't mean there is anything wrong with them. Just that we don't need to lock them up forever."

She starts pulling things from the rack - pants, jackets, shirts, vests. They're a bit overwhelming - the colors, the fabrics, the different cuts.

"I don't even know where to start," Blaine admits. Here he is in a place for people who express themselves through clothes, and he's the guy who just wants to wear the correct outfit for the audience and the occasion, whether it's a Warblers performance or a gig with a funk band.

"All of these things should work with his coloring and build, so just look for something that says _Kurt_ to you," Isabelle suggests. "I'll help choose things that finish the look, once you've started."

In the end, it's a blue vest that catches his attention. He closes his eyes for a moment and imagines Kurt wearing it, singing in Blaine's mind. "This one," he says. "It will bring out his eyes. I think."

Isabelle smiles. "Good choice." She sets it aside, then whirls around the room, finding pants and a shirt and a jacket to complement it.

She holds them up when she's done. "What do you think?"

Blaine looks at them and nods. "I just hope he likes it."

"If he doesn't, you can send him to me," Isabelle says. "What are you wearing, by the way?"

Blaine shrugs. "A black suit, probably."

Isabelle gives him an appraising look. "I've got an idea."

*

Blaine shows the suit to Kurt as soon as he gets back. If it's awful, there will be time to find something else. But Kurt literally squeaks and then kisses Blaine when he sees it, and Blaine mentally thanks Isabelle and her sense of style.

He doesn't show Kurt what he's going to wear until they're dressing for the show. In fact, he lets Kurt change, then goes into the bedroom and closes the door.

"This isn't a wedding, Blaine!" Kurt teases. But there's something nervous about Kurt's tone, too, like he's worried about what Blaine's up to.

Finally, Blaine is ready. Kurt looks at him, then nods slowly, a slow smile sliding over his face. Blaine knows it isn't daring or particularly expressive - the suit is charcoal grey, with pinstripes. Not something that will distract the reviewers; after all, the attention should be on the actual cast, not on people who left the production. But it's punctuated with a bright-colored tie, the same shade of blue as Kurt's vest, but with golden flecks in it.

_"This is your first outing as a couple," Isabelle had pointed out. "Show everyone that you're together." She had smiled. "You know that every gay man at Vogue has been after Kurt for years, don't you? And every woman, regardless of orientation, just wants to take care of him. You can send a message with just a little color."_

Kurt doesn't say anything, but he holds Blaine's hand as they go out to wait for a taxi.

*

It's weird, watching a show that Blaine knows intimately. He's heard every song, watched the blocking develop for each scene. In some ways, it's like being an understudy, except that the sets and costumes are new to him, and he's sitting in the theatre's seats as a member of the audience, rather than backstage, ready to step in if there's an emergency. He doesn't realize that he's singing along in his mind until Kurt threads his fingers through Blaine's and squeezes.

The afterparty is a tumult of barely contained excitement, jumbled together with nerves. The cast has already started drinking when Blaine and Kurt arrive, and it shows. Rachel flings herself at them, Kurt first and then Blaine, and then moves on.

"Rum?" Kurt guesses, watching her go.

"It wasn't that distinct of a scent," Blaine replies. "But she could probably disinfect an entire apartment with that breath."

The rest of the party is less predictable. Well, Isabelle had predicted it; Kurt does draw a lot of attention. Blaine holds his hand and tries to ward them off. Kurt, on the other hand, is mostly oblivious to everything but the most blatant pick-up lines.

For instance, the director (who is in some kind of a relationship, supposedly, and really should behave better): "So this is the man who stole Blaine away from our show."

Kurt smiles and looks like he will respond, but Blaine cuts him off.

"It isn't stealing when something is freely given." Blaine feels the squeeze of Kurt's hand. He doesn't look, but something warms inside him.

"Are you open to auditioning for other roles now?" The speaker is someone Blaine hasn't met, but knows by reputation.

Kurt nudges Blaine and sings _I'm not throwing away my shot_ in his head.

"Yes," Blaine replies, as politely as possible. "What is the part?"

It sounds intriguing. Nothing like this show, but with the right mix of singing and acting to be interesting. Blaine texts his contact information, knowing that it might never lead anywhere. Ideas don't always become shows, and auditions don't always turn into roles.

Finally, Blaine excuses himself and guides Kurt towards the door. "You look tired," he says when Kurt gives him a questioning look.

"I can't wait to see you in that," Kurt smiles at him. "You know that, don't you? I can't wait to watch you on the stage, just like this, except better. And I'm glad that I won't go down in history as the guy who kept Blaine Anderson off of Broadway."

Blaine blushes. "I still need to get the part." They get into a taxi to ride home, holding hands the entire way.

*

Rachel may be brilliant on stage, but she was the roommate from hell. At least, that's Blaine's conclusion after starting to clean Kurt's old apartment. It literally takes TWO HOURS to just get through the disaster of rotting food in the refrigerator. Blaine can't imagine how Rachel would have done if she had been the one taking care of Kurt while he was lying in pain with his feet up on a couch.

It's hard to believe that Kurt was hesitant to leave this mess and move in with Blaine.

Blaine doesn't want to think about it. He just wants to think about cleaning up Kurt's things. He'll deal with that other stuff later.

But there's a challenge: Kurt has a lot of clothes. A LOT of clothes. And after the discussion over Blaine's much smaller clothes-sorting challenge, Blaine is hesitant to let Kurt get rid of anything. Especially because, honestly, he thinks Kurt would look good in pretty much everything he owns. It takes some encouragement to get Kurt to try things on, but when he does... Blaine was right. Kurt does look cute in everything. And he looks even cuter when Blaine is taking the clothes off of Kurt again.

"I don't think I'm helping much," Blaine finally admits. "Is there something else I can sort through?" He picks up one of the boxes and shows it to Kurt.

"Oh. Those are things that I brought back from Ohio. My step-mom moved into a smaller place after my dad died, and a lot of my old stuff was in boxes. I never went through any of them." Kurt turns back to the clothes. "I should probably just throw it all out."

Blaine isn't going to let that comment slide. He's seen Kurt avoid emotionally charged topics, and this is what it looks like. But he knows better than to challenge Kurt outright, so he offers help, instead. "I can take a look, and let you know what's there."

Kurt doesn't say anything, so Blaine takes that as a yes. He opens the box.

The first thing he sees is large, and silver, and gaudy. A shoe? He holds it up. "Umm. What are these?"

Kurt laughs, as if he's so surprised that he can't do anything else. "I'm not sure I can even start to explain. Just... it involved a performance of _Bad Romance_."

Blaine grins. Kurt doesn't talk much about his old performances, and if the belongings can trigger one of Kurt's laughs, all of this will be worth it. He digs out the next object. It looks like some kind of wig. "What about this?"

"I was Riff Raff in a private production of Rocky Horror," Kurt says. "Crap. That box is all the old Glee Club stuff. You don't need to go through it. Everything else is probably paper. Programs from competitions. Photos. Things like that."

Which means that, from Blaine's perspective, it's an absolute gold mine. "Now I really want to see." He settles onto the floor, crosses his legs, and starts pulling things out. The first thing he sees sparks his own memories. "Oh, wow. This is the program from Regionals, the year when you beat us." He turns to the Warblers' page and reads through the list of names. There he is, along with Wes and David and all the rest. And there is Kurt, listed on the next page, along with most of the people who had been at Kurt's friend's wedding. "We competed against you twice that year, didn't we? Because of that weird tie at Sectionals?"

"Right," Kurt says. He puts down the pile of scarves that he was sorting. "I remember that."

"We could have met that year." Blaine imagines what it would have been like to sneak a kiss in the green room.

"I nearly went to Dalton to spy on you," Kurt confesses.

Blaine fakes shock that Kurt had contemplated such a breach of show choir ethics, then grins. "That would have been entertaining." He puts down the program and looks at the paper below it. It's the official Regionals photo of Kurt's group, mounted beside a candid photo of them celebrating with their trophy. "I recognize most of you from the wedding," he says, holding up the photo so Kurt can see it. "Rachel, of course. Tina. Mercedes. Artie. Santana and Brittany. The dancer... Mike? And the blond guy, Sam?" But there's one person in the middle of the photo, someone he vaguely remembers from the competitions. "I don't remember seeing this guy at the wedding. I would have noticed him. The freakishly tall one, who always sang with Rachel at competitions?"

Kurt gets up to look. "Finn," he says. There's an unexplained weight to the name. "He was my step-brother."

"Whatever happened to him?" Blaine asks. And then, too late, he realizes his utter lack of tact and sensitivity. "Was?"

"He died." Kurt's voice is flat. Emotionless. He takes the photo and puts it back into the box, then goes over to his bed and picks up sweaters at random.

There's a song drifting quietly through his brain.

 _Blackbird singing in the dead of night_ _  
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see  
All your life_

 _Blackbird._ The song that Blaine had heard Kurt singing the night after his callback for the show with Rachel. The song that let Kurt appear in Blaine's life. Blaine listens, then sings along, quietly, out loud.

_You were only waiting for this moment to be free..._

Kurt looks up. And yes, Blaine is intruding by singing along with Kurt. But Blaine remembers the comfort that Kurt needed when he sang about his father, and wonders what Kurt needs now.

"Sorry," Blaine says. "You were singing in your head. Like the first time I heard you."

"I planned to sing that at Finn's memorial." Kurt's voice sounds numb.

"Planned?" Blaine asks.

"I... couldn't." Kurt closes his eyes briefly. "I tried to sing. And nothing came out."

Oh. Blaine doesn't have any idea what Kurt feels, except for the pain that infuses the silent song. But he stands and walks to the bed and reaches for Kurt's hand, anyways. Kurt is already sobbing, more choked breaths than anything, and Blaine imagines wrapping himself around Kurt until he feels warm and cared-for and safe. Kurt buries his face in Blaine's neck, crying harder, and Blaine rocks him, slowly, until the sobs subside into normal crying.

"Thank you," Kurt sniffles.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Blaine offers. "Or not. It's ok."

"Finn was Rachel's boyfriend before he was my step-brother," Kurt starts. "Or boyfriend some of the time. They spent a lot of time breaking up and getting back together. When my dad married Finn's mom, I started being their go-between-slash-relationship-counselor. We were all supposed to move to New York together, but Finn didn't get into college and broke up with Rachel. And then things got messy." Kurt shrugged. "I was living with Rachel that whole time, so I mostly heard her side of things. When my dad died, I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I didn't know how much it affected Finn. And I wasn't there when Finn needed me."

Blaine just sits there, rubbing Kurt's back.

"I was so selfish, trapped in my own hookups and drama here in New York. There... were a lot of hookups, you know. They weren't very healthy. " He glances at Blaine to gauge his reaction.

Blaine just nods. Maybe he should feel jealous. But it was a long time ago.

"I should have gone back to Ohio," Kurt sighs. "But I didn't."

Blaine wants to fix it all. To tell Kurt that it wasn't his fault. That he can't blame himself. But Blaine just keeps listening, instead.

"Afterwards, it was just Rachel and me. We made a pact not to talk about it, to take care of each other, to keep each other from falling apart." Kurt looks at Blaine. "That's why I couldn't just leave her here alone. It didn't have anything to do with you."

Blaine lifts Kurt's hand and kisses his knuckles. Kurt's smile is wet, but genuine.

"It's getting dark," Kurt finally says.

Blaine looks around the room at their progress. They've gotten through part of a closet plus the Glee Club box, and there's still a lot left to go. "I don't think you should get rid of this," he says.

"The box?" Kurt asks.

"Any of it," Blaine says. "They're your memories, Kurt. They're important."

"They don't _spark joy_." Kurt raises an eyebrow at Blaine. "This is how it starts, you know. Watch out. I'll be on an episode of Hoarders in no time."

Blaine looks at him, amused. Kurt would be pretty entertaining on reality TV.

"Besides, there isn't room for all this stuff at your place." He glares at Blaine. "And no. I'm not letting you get rid of all your nostalgia just to make room for mine."

Blaine looks at the space. It's a different aesthetic from his apartment, all open space rather than comfortable clutter. But it's got potential. "What if I moved out here?"

Kurt looks surprised. "To Bushwick?"

"There's more room here than in my place. And Rachel is moving out." Blaine stops, suddenly realizing that he might be overstepping. "Unless you don't want me to."

"Don't be silly." Kurt responds immediately and emphatically. "It's just... your place is really cute. And convenient. Are you sure you'd rather be out here?"

Blaine wants to say that he wants to be with Kurt, wherever Kurt wants to be. But he gives a more practical answer. "Rachel's room would make a good office space for you. You could have a desk for your laptop - no more kitchen table - and a comfortable chair to sit at. And there's room out in the living room for more bookcases. And my couch." Blaine thinks of it as _Kurt's couch_ , but he doesn't say that.

"We could get rid of Rachel's couch," Kurt suggests. "Send it to a thrift store. I can't imagine that she'll want to move it."

"It's nice for playing guitar," Blaine says, remembering the night he and Rachel sang for Kurt. "If it's ok with Rachel, I would keep it." He looks around again, measuring the space in his mind. "There's even room in here for a piano."

"Don't tell Rachel that," Kurt says. "It's going to take forever for her to get moved out as it is. If we had a piano? We would have a permanent houseguest."

Blaine laughs, then considers the options. "We could take our time," he suggests. "Take turns staying here and at my place. Figure out what works best."

Kurt looks out the window. The moon is already rising. "Want to stay here tonight?" he asks.

And Blaine does. Very much.

They shower, and find pajamas, and pile up pillows to support Kurt's back, and curl up in bed together. After breaking in the bed with a pair of orgasms, they cuddle together. And then Blaine hears Kurt's voice. Out loud.

_Hold me now_   
_whoa  
Warm my heart_   
_Stay with me_   
_Let loving start_   
_Let loving start_

Blaine sits up. "You're singing," he whispers. "Out loud."

Kurt stops. "Sorry. I'm probably out of tune."

"Don't stop," Blaine murmurs. "Don't ever stop."

And he sings the harmony part, out loud, until their voices are tired and they fall asleep.


	11. So many dreams I've yet to find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blaine and Kurt sleep in different places and it's awful and they do a rom-com thing in a subway station. Also, Jesse St. James = Jesse St. Sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last few chapters are shorter, possibly because they're expanding on paragraphs in the original fic, rather than including entire conversations.
> 
> Soundtrack:
> 
> You Can't Hurry Love (The Supremes: https://youtu.be/uZj032MNIx4)
> 
> So Far Away (Carole King: https://youtu.be/UofYl3dataU)
> 
> Time After Time (Cyndi Lauper: https://youtu.be/VdQY7BusJNU)
> 
> Out Here On My Own (Irene Cara/Fame: https://youtu.be/i4mkRwkQRoQ)

Blaine sits on Rachel's couch in the Bushwick loft, reading through a script, waiting for Kurt to get home from his meeting at Vogue. They've been alternating where they sleep for two months now. Kurt is gradually working up to the full commute, going to the Vogue office on meeting days, but writing from home the rest of the time. Blaine still worries about him getting tired, especially lugging his laptop across the city, but he tries not to fuss unless Kurt's inner song tells him that something is wrong.

The door grinds with the sound of someone opening it, and Blaine jumps up to help. Kurt's face appears as the crack widens, and Blaine knows that Kurt's brightening smile is reflected on his own face. They wait until the door is all the way open to kiss, but in their minds, they're already singing.

 _You can't hurry love_ _  
No, you'll just have to wait  
Just trust, give it time  
No matter how long it takes_

"How was Vogue?" Blaine asks when they're done kissing their way through the verse.

"This week's assignment is ridiculous." Kurt rolls his eyes. "Someday Isabelle will stop letting the interns come up with insane topics and making the rest of us pretend that they're brilliant."

Blaine laughs and puts down the script so he can kiss Kurt again. "And the commute?"

"Fine," Kurt says, putting his laptop bag on the floor. "But I should put my foot up for a while."

"I'll make dinner," Blaine says. "There are just a few things that need to be chopped. It should take just about the right amount of time to help your foot. Need any ice?"

"No, but I'm ready for the Tylenol." Kurt walks over to the sink to get some water, then glances at the script where it's lying on the counter. "What's that?"

"Remember the afterparty for Rachel's preview?" Blaine asks.

"Which could have been your preview. Yes." Kurt picks up the script and starts flipping through it. "Is this for the show? You know... that show? That you were invited to audition for?"

Blaine nods and goes to find the cutting board and knife. "The auditions are next week."

"Oh!" Kurt bounces a little. "Blaine, that's so exciting! Do you need to prepare a song, or practice one of the sides?"

"Both," Blaine says, pulling out an onion and starting to slice it. "You can take that to the couch and look at it. Remember, you're supposed to be elevating your foot, not jumping up and down."

"I visited my physical therapist today," Kurt replies. "How do you know what I'm supposed to be doing?"

"I can't imagine that _'sudden movements'_ are the next thing they would prescribe," Blaine says. "Sit."

Kurt laughs at him. "You're as bad as Rachel."

"I hope I'm worse than Rachel," Blaine replies. "At least if _'taking care of Kurt'_ is something bad." He finishes cutting up the onion and starts mincing garlic. "Speaking of Rachel, did she ever call you back?"

"She did," Kurt says, walking to the couch and stacking pillows into a pile to support his leg.

"And did she tell you when she could come out here and get her stuff?" Blaine gets a bell pepper from the refrigerator and starts slicing it into strips.

Kurt laughs. "Of course not. But she invited us to meet her for dinner on her night off."

"Does she expect us to cook?" Blaine asks.

"No. She wants to go out. Us, and her and Jesse." Kurt makes a face.

"Well, maybe we'll be able to get her to commit to a time while we're waiting for the entrees to arrive," Blaine says.

Kurt's skeptical snort tells Blaine that Kurt knows just how likely that is. Or isn't.

Blaine pulls out a pan, turns on the stove, and takes the marinating meat out of the refrigerator. When the pan is hot, he puts in the meat and starts to brown it.

"This is really good," Kurt says.

"It's not even cooked yet," Blaine replies. "Patience."

"Not the food," Kurt says. "Though I know it will be excellent. I'm talking about the script. This is going to be so great for you, Blaine."

Blaine grins. "It's a really interesting part," he says.

"What are you going to sing for the audition?" Kurt asks. "It should show off your range. Vocal AND emotional."

Blaine flips the meat over to brown the other side. "I'm starting to make a list. Want to critique it?"

"You know I do." Kurt twists his head so he can smile at Blaine.

After dinner, they work their way through Blaine's ideas for audition songs. Kurt doesn't seem quite satisfied with them, which worries Blaine a little. But sometimes Kurt just needs a day or more to let ideas develop. He does that with his writing. He'll do it with the song list.

*

Rachel and Jesse are late. Kurt rolls his eyes, as if this is expected, and orders appetizers. Fifteen minutes after they were supposed to arrive, Rachel breezes in, laughing at something Jesse is saying.

Kurt stands and gives Rachel a kiss on the cheek. "Nice to finally see you after all those texts and phone calls," he says. "How is everything?"

"The show is going well," Rachel says, turning to accept Blaine's peck on her other cheek.

"Except..." Jesse adds.

Kurt gives Jesse an overly friendly smile and shakes his hand. "Except what?"

"Except I'm leaving the show," Rachel says. "I got cast in something else. For a lead role this time!"

"So soon?" Kurt frowns at her. "Your show is doing so well. And it's only been two months. Shouldn't you wait a little bit longer? What if the new show never gets off the ground?"

"And that's why you aren't Rachel's manager," Jesse interrupts, then turns to the other side of the table. "Hi. You must be Blaine."

"Brilliant deduction," Kurt mutters.

Blaine just shakes Jesse's hand and decides that Nice Dalton Boy might be his best role for the evening. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Let's sit down," Rachel suggests. "Oh, you ordered hummus!"

Kurt passes her a plate, then hands the hummus and pita bread around. "Tell us about this new show," he says. "I know you're going to, so I might as well ask."

Rachel shakes her head at him. "It's a musical about Jane Austen," she says, looking at Blaine. "It will be amazing!"

"It has _Tony_ written all over it," Jesse brags. He reaches for the appetizer plate and frowns. They're out of hummus.

"I'm sure it does." Kurt plasters on his smile.

"Here, want to look at the menus?" Blaine asks, handing them around. "I'll order some dolmades while we're waiting."

Fortunately, the next set of appetizers arrives quickly. Rachel dominates the conversation, which isn't a surprise, given her excitement about her new role. Kurt makes dry comments from time to time, which Rachel blithely ignores, but which earn glares from Jesse. Privately, Blaine is happy for Rachel; he knows that the first show was always going to be a stepping stone for her. But he hides his reaction behind conversations with the waiter about ensuring that the entrees are really vegan, and maybe getting a pitcher of water for the whole table.

Jesse turns to him. "And what have you been doing, Blaine, since you quit Rachel's show?"

Everyone turns to look at him. "I... have an audition," Blaine says.

Kurt's smile is warm and proud and makes Blaine's toes curl.

"Really?" Rachel replies. "Blaine, that's wonderful! What is it?"

As he describes the role, Blaine finds that he's even more enthusiastic about it than he had been when he first read the script. He's excited enough that he doesn't notice the weird looks that Rachel is giving Jesse until Jesse speaks.

"That's funny," Jesse says, as the entrees arrive. "It sounds like a role that I'm auditioning for."

Kurt's smile looks like it should be registered as a dangerous weapon. "Really," he says.

Jesse ignores him. "What are you thinking of using for an audition song?" he asks. "I don't know if you've heard, but the part supposedly requires quite a vocal range. And the lyrics..." He shakes his head. "Very clever, but very difficult to memorize. Missing a line could change the show's entire meaning."

Blaine starts to open his mouth to answer, but Kurt kicks him underneath the table.

"I know what you're doing," Kurt says to Jesse. "Stop it."

Jesse holds up his hands, like he's swearing to his innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Kurt tilts his head. "If I remember correctly, you've always specialized in messing with the competition's heads." He glances at Rachel. "Sometimes literally."

"He apologized for that a long time ago!" Rachel protests. "Blaine's hair is safe."

Blaine blinks in confusion.

"That's good," Kurt says. "Because I happen to know that his hair gel doesn't use _eggs_."

Jesse ignores him. "What's the lowest note you can hit?" he asks.

"Blaine, just ignore him," Kurt interrupts. "We'll talk about audition songs later. When Jesse isn't trying to sabotage you."

" _You'll_ talk about audition songs?" Jesse looks amused. "What, have you taken up training people for Broadway success now?"

"I'm just giving support," Kurt replies. "Like I did for Rachel before her first role."

"Really?" Jesse smirks. "I remember when Rachel decided not to take your advice. That's when she finally got cast."

Kurt looks at Rachel, who shrugs. "Jesse had some really great suggestions," she admits.

"You didn't tell me that," Kurt hisses.

"She didn't want to hurt your feelings," Jesse says.

"I wasn't ready to tell you about Jesse," Rachel confesses. "I didn't think you were ready to hear that I was seeing someone."

"Face it," Jesse says. "You were living your failed Broadway dreams through Rachel, and now you're trying to do the same thing with Blaine."

Kurt narrows his eyes. "You didn't get into NYADA either."

"Yes, but I got roles anyway," Jesse reminds him. "You just got to inflict your ridiculous fashion sense on the world."

Kurt starts spinning his silverware through his fingers, like he's preparing to kill Jesse with a fork and a spoon. Blaine taps Kurt's ankle with his foot, but Kurt just glares at him.

It's time to get out of the situation. Blaine raises his hand. "Waiter?" he calls. "Could we get the check, please? And some to-go boxes?"

*

Kurt looks at the list of songs and shakes his head. "None of these are going to work."

Blaine sorts through them in his mind. "I still think _Teenage Dream_ might do."

"You heard what Jesse said last night." Kurt sighs. "None of these songs show off what you're capable of. Not well enough to beat Jesse for the role."

Blaine eyes Kurt. "I thought I was supposed to ignore Jesse's attempt at sabotage."

"The problem with Jesse St. James is that he's not just a manipulative, self-involved, dirty-playing creep," Kurt says. "He's also very, very good at what he does. Good at singing, yes. But also good at reading the room and giving powerful people exactly what they want." He grits his teeth. "You don't just need to beat him. You need to annihilate him."

Blaine lifts his hands in surrender. "Ok. So what do you suggest?"

"I think you need to sing one of _your_ songs," Kurt says. "One of the things you've been writing. The character is a songwriter. Surprise them with your insights into his mind, as well as your ability to sing."

Blaine just starts shaking his head. "I thought I was supposed to show emotional range," he says. "My songs are silly. You know that."

"They're not silly," Kurt insists. "They say something important about who you are."

Blaine squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. "Kurt. No."

Kurt sighs loudly. "Rachel always says that you can't leave anything on the table at an audition," he says. "Don't undermine yourself."

"I'm not Rachel," Blaine points out.

"You could keep the ambition and talent and leave out the crazy," Kurt says. "You ARE that good, you know."

Kurt's suggestion makes Blaine want to run away screaming. No. No, he does not want to sing a song he wrote. Not with anything important riding on it. Like a job. Or Kurt's view of him.

Blaine decides to change the subject. "Why didn't you ever tell me that you wanted to be on Broadway?" he asks. "I had no idea that you applied to NYADA."

"Let's not talk about this," Kurt replies. "We need to find an audition song for you."

"Actually, I think we do need to talk about this," Blaine insists. "Because you haven't been totally honest with me. I know why you don't sing out loud now, and I know you used to sing in high school. But this is different. NYADA. Broadway. Singing and acting... you had a dream. That's why you moved to New York."

Kurt shrugs. "Why did you _think_ I moved here?"

"Fashion?" Blaine suggests. "The culture? A place that's more accepting than Lima, Ohio?"

"It's those things. Yes," Kurt says. "And I also love Broadway. You know the songs that play in my head. It should be obvious."

Blaine frowns at him. "Have you ever dated anyone who isn't in show business?" he asks. "Anyone from Vogue? Any guy you just met at a club?"

"I haven't dated many people at all, Blaine," Kurt replies. "During my first year here, yes. There were a lot of hook-ups with people Rachel knew. But after that I stuck with celibacy."

"Until Rachel introduced you to another performer," Blaine points out.

Kurt blinks at him. "Do you really believe what Jesse said? That I'm with you because I want to live out my misplaced Broadway dreams?"

Blaine doesn't answer.

Kurt just shakes his head. "This is ridiculous." He gets up from his chair and grabs his coat.

"Where are you going?" Blaine asks.

"Bushwick," Kurt replies. "I've got a column to write. And it's clear that I'm not helping at all here."

He puts on his coat and walks out the door.

*

Blaine sits on the couch - Kurt's couch - and strums his guitar. He's trying to come up with another audition song. Really.

He strums another chord. It isn't right.

He puts his guitar aside. Dammit.

He's singing to Kurt.

And Kurt can't hear him.

Because Kurt is on the other side of the city.

He picks up the guitar again and just lets himself play along with the earworm in his head.

It's all wrong. Blaine has to go back and transpose it into another key. Kurt would be able hit all the notes in Carole King's version of the song, but Blaine can't.

 _So far away_ _  
Doesn't anybody stay in one place any more?  
It would be so fine to see your face at my door  
It doesn't help to know you're just time away  
Long ago I reached for you and there you stood  
Holding you again could only do me good  
Oh how I wish I could but you're so far away_

He doesn't sleep very well. Every time he drifts off, he reaches across the bed, expecting to thread his fingers through Kurt's or to pillow his head against Kurt's chest. But Kurt isn't there.

Finally, he gets out of bed and goes into the shower. No gel today, he thinks. When he's done, he wanders out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped around him, and starts going to through the stack of brightly colored clothes that Kurt wouldn't let him throw out. Red pants. Yellow shirt.

But no flowers. Definitely no flowers.

Blaine grabs his jacket and heads for the subway. It takes two trains to get from his place out to Bushwick, and he rushes through the station where he transfers, hoping not to miss the connection. And he realizes it is very rom-com of him, running through a subway station with a Cyndi Lauper song in his head...

 _If you fall, I will catch you, I will be waiting_ _  
Time after time_

He has just entered the connecting corridor when he hears a voice singing. A familiar, beloved voice.

 _When I'm down and feeling blue,_ _  
I close my eyes so I can be with you_.

Blaine turns and goes back, trying to find the source of the song. It gets clearer, and Blaine sings back.

 _Oh, baby be strong for me;_ _  
Baby, belong to me._

But Kurt's voice has switched songs.

 _If you're lost, you can look and you will find me_ _  
Time after time_

Blaine turns a corner and there Kurt is, rushing towards him, surprisingly fast for someone who was hit by a car a few months ago.

"I couldn't sleep." Kurt's words tumble over one another.

"As soon as it was light out, I got on the train," Blaine says at the same time.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have pushed you to sing something you didn't want to, it's your audition and your dreams and you can do what you want with them..." Kurt finally stops to breathe.

"I should never have accused you of sleeping with me because I'm in show business," Blaine replies.

"Jesse knows which buttons to push." Kurt grimaces. "He always has."

"I should have ignored him," Blaine says.

"I love you and I hate fighting with you and can we just go back and do last night over?" Kurt talks so fast that he is practically speaking over himself.

But Blaine knows what he is trying to say. "Yes," he answers. "Yes."

*

Blaine walks onto the audition stage. "Hi," he says. "I'm Blaine Anderson, and I'll be auditioning for the lead role." He takes a deep breath and starts to sing.

_I'll_   
_tell you something_   
_I hope you'll understand..._

He starts slow, trying to capture the ache that he felt when he first heard Kurt singing. He had to transpose it into a different key than Kurt uses, but it works. Especially when he segues into a faster, more Beatles-esque version.

He hopes it's enough to win the part. Because he and Kurt agree: neither of them wants Jesse to win.


	12. Your turn it won't be long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blaine has a callback and Kurt is into drama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Stiff Competition (Cheap Trick: https://youtu.be/fuJTiZsNY3U)  
> Cheeseburger in Paradise

Kurt sighs as Blaine nuzzles his neck. Dinner is over, the dishes are washed, and they're thinking of watching a movie, but they haven't gotten farther than turning on the television. They're not doing much - kissing on the couch, mostly, interspersed with occasional slow caresses. Neither one is aroused enough to be frantic yet, though it never takes much. And then Blaine suddenly hears a tune, not in Kurt's head, not something he's ever listened to before. It's a new song. And it wants to be written.

He sits up.

Kurt looks amused. "Inspiration?"

Blaine nods. "Hold on. I just need to find my guitar." He stands and looks behind the chair, where it usually sits. It isn't there.

"Maybe it's in the bedroom," Kurt suggests. "I swear you were playing it when I woke up a couple days ago."

"That was last week." Blaine checks his notebook to be sure. "Yeah. Last week."

"Did you put it in the closet when you were done?" Kurt asks. "I thought I saw it when I was hanging up my shirt the other day."

"I'll look." But Blaine can't find it. Not in the closet. Not in the living room. Not tucked out of the way in the kitchen, from the time Kurt made scones. Not in the bathroom, which is good, because the guitar does not belong in the bathroom.

"Didn't you take it out to Bushwick the other night?" Kurt asks. "Or was that last week?"

"I had it out there a while back," Blaine remembers. "We were playing that game where I had to figure out TV theme songs in a measure or less."

"Oh, right," Kurt replies. "Did you ever bring it back here?"

Blaine can't remember. He sits down in frustration.

Kurt picks up Blaine's hand and strokes each one of his fingers. "Can you just sing it for me?" He asks. "Acapella?"

Blaine shakes his head. "I can't figure out the chords without the guitar," he says. "And you may be better at guessing notes than I am, but you never know the chords."

"Record it on your phone," Kurt suggests. "You can figure out the chords later, can't you?"

"Probably." Blaine makes a face.

Kurt looks amused. "What is that all about?"

"I hate listening to my songs," Blaine admits. "I write them in the notebook so I can get the ideas down, but it's embarrassing to listen to an early version. I don't even like to hear them when I think they're done."

"Well, you know how I feel about them," Kurt says. "But I'm not going to tell you - not again, not unless you promise not to get mad at me."

Blaine sighs. "Ok." He sits back down on the couch, defeated.

Kurt tugs at Blaine until he leans his head against Kurt's chest, so Kurt can thread his fingers through Blaine's curls. "You know, I couldn't find my boots the other day," Kurt says. "Turns out they were here."

"A lot of your favorite clothes are here," Blaine agrees.

"It's getting hard to keep track of everything." Kurt sits quietly, like he has an idea, but isn't quite ready to bring it up.

"Do you want to just move everything to Bushwick?" Blaine suggests. "I know Rachel keeps putting off her part of the move, but this is getting ridiculous."

"At this point, I'm ready to pack her things into boxes and leave them on the street," Kurt agrees. "Well, no. I wouldn't do that to Rachel. But I'm about ready to."

"We could borrow my band's van," Blaine says. "Deliver the boxes, rather than put them on the street."

Kurt runs his fingers along the edge of Blaine's collar. "Let's do that. Soon. But not at this moment."

Blaine turns and kisses him, singing the song idea in his head to the sound of Kurt's moans.

*

In the end, they bring the boxes all the way into Rachel's apartment. Well, Rachel and Jesse's apartment. And Jesse is there. Of course.

"Nice to see you, Blaine," Jesse says. "Congratulations on getting a callback."

"Thank you," Blaine says from behind the box of Rachel's shoes.

"Hi, Kurt," Jesse continues. "So you're moving in together." He smirks. "I hope you're ready for Blaine's inevitable role as my understudy. He won't be quite as hot like that, will he."

Kurt shoves his box into Jesse's arms. "Don't drop this," he says. "It's all of Rachel's trophies. It would be unfortunate if they broke, and she decided to use the fragments to decapitate you and feed the tiny remnants of your brain to the pigeons in Times Square."

Part of Blaine wants to tell Kurt that pigeons aren't carnivores, and besides, why would anyone inflict the brain of Jesse St. James on innocent creatures. But he also knows that the box is 90% full of bubble wrap, and Kurt is bluffing. Mostly.

The tension is broken when Al and Wes come up the steps carrying other boxes. They drop them in the doorway, stacking them until it's impossible to see Jesse's face behind the pile, and leave. Al is singing Cheap Trick in his head.

_Stiff competition all over the world_ _  
I screw you, you screw me, they screw us  
Here we go again  
All right, we have so much fun_

*

"You're upset," Kurt notes.

He's right. Blaine has been fuming during the entire drive back to Bushwick. Wes and Al had even noticed, but Wes politely ignored it, and Al knew better than to intervene.

"Jesse's a jerk, you know." Kurt follows Blaine into the apartment - their apartment, now - and grabs a couple ibuprofen.

"You shouldn't have carried those boxes," Blaine frets. "Your ribs haven't healed yet."

"I needed a prop to deal with Jesse. He doesn't understand anything without drama." Kurt grimaces. It's clear that his back will pay for Kurt's dramatic urges.

Blaine goes to find a hot pad and plugs it in.

"Jesse's wrong, you know," Kurt says, sitting on the couch and letting Blaine arrange the pad over his shoulder. "I thought you were hot before I knew who you were."

Blaine looks at him skeptically.

Kurt sighs. "Fine. I'll lay it out for you. First, you would be hot if you were a homeless guy on the street."

"But you would make me take a shower," Blaine says.

"I would definitely make you shower. But regardless: still hot. Second thing I learned about you: you're kind. You take care of people. And you can cook."

"Those are three things," Blaine argues.

"They're related, so they fit in one category." Kurt lifts his hands and starts ticking off his fingers. "Third thing..."

"Fifth," Blaine interrupts.

"Stop talking. I'm trying to compliment you." Kurt give him a mock glare. "Third thing. You make me laugh. Fourth... You help me deal with my fears. Of hospitals. Of singing out loud. Of feeling." He pauses. "Actually, that should be the fifth thing. You feel everything so deeply, even if you're embarrassed by it. Which you shouldn't be."

Blaine looks at his hands.

"No, look at me," Kurt commands. "I care about you getting this role because I can tell that you want it. Your face lit up when you heard about it, back at Rachel's afterparty. You were excited when you read the script. So yes, I want you to get it. Not because you'll be totally hot on stage. Or not _just_ because you'll be hot on stage. But also because you want it, and I want you to be happy." He shrugs. "You know, if you wanted to be a lawyer or something, I would help you study for that test. You know. That lawyer test."

"The LSATs?" Blaine supplies. "The bar exam?"

"The LSATs. A 'bar exam' sounds like one of your band's drinking games." Kurt tilts his head and quirks an eyebrow. "Blaine, if you ever want to study for the LSATs instead of running lines, I'm your guy."

"God, no. Not the LSATs," Blaine murmurs. "I decided to be an actor to get away from them."

"Even though your parents wanted you to be a lawyer," Kurt reminds him.

"Well, that was mostly my dad," Blaine says. "But yeah. Even though my parents wanted me to be a lawyer."

"I'll be here whether you get the part or not," Kurt says. "Though you're going to get it. And you're going to crush Jesse St. James like a metaphorical bug in the process."

*

They've run the lines. Run ALL of the lines. It takes several van trips to move all of Blaine's things to Bushwick, and during every drive, Kurt pushes Blaine to practice for his callback. Blaine feels ready. Kurt isn't so sure.

"You need a costume," Kurt frets. "Or a prop."

"We're working from the script," Blaine reminds him. "I know the lines. I know how to interpret them. I know the songs. At this point, it's about my chemistry with my scene partner."

"Yes, but Jesse's going to do something more," Kurt argues. "You need to anticipate that, and out-do him." He looks around the still-packed boxes of dishes and half-sorted piles of clothes, and starts picking up and discarding items.

"Oh, that's where my guitar went." Blaine points. "It's under the winter jackets."

"Your guitar." Kurt grins. "That's it."

"Kurt, I don't get to choose my music for the callback," Blaine reminds him. "I'm not going to sing one of my own songs."

"That's not what you need it for," Kurt says. "You just need to carry it around."

"Around the stage?" Blaine frowns.

"And backstage, and in the audience. As a prop, not an instrument." Kurt's voice rises with excitement. "Your character is a songwriter. There's at least one scene where he has a guitar. So you just carry yours around. Show them you're comfortable with it." He smirks. "Jesse is very, very good at singing and dancing and trash-talking the competition. But he'll hold a guitar like an actor pretending to play a guitar." He grins at Blaine. "YOU, on the other hand, hold your guitar like it's an extension of your brain."

"That's a weird image," Blaine says.

"But it's true," Kurt says. "Take it from someone who regularly ogles you while you're writing songs. Your guitar is the perfect prop. And no matter what Jesse does to psych you out, you'll be able to out-play him."

Blaine picks up his guitar case and looks at it. Maybe...?

*

Jesse is on stage while Blaine is warming up. He can hear the entire audition through an open door. And Jesse's good. He's very good. He delivers the lines with just the right emotional depth, plus perfect comic timing when appropriate. And he really can sing. Blaine swallows and tightens his grip on the handle of his guitar case.

And then Jesse is done. He brushes past Blaine without a word. Blaine stares. Did Jesse dye his hair? Or is that a wig? Blaine reminds himself of Kurt's pep talk, and heads onto stage.

He runs through one scene, then another, not forgetting any lines. He doesn't even mess up the puns. And then it's time to sing.

And... crap. It's the most difficult of the songs, of course. The one that's just on the edge of his range. It's hard to hit the notes and emote perfectly. Blaine looks down at his guitar case and decides to take a risk.

"I know you've got an accompanist here," he says. "But in the show, my character is supposed to have a guitar. Would you mind if I used mine?"

The director shrugs. Blaine takes that as permission, and pulls out his guitar.

He strums it a few times, then tunes. It's not off at all, but tuning calms his nerves. Then he looks up at the director, plays a few notes, and starts to sing.

And then he stops. "Sorry," he says. "That's the wrong key. Let me try it again." He strums a few more times, transposing the song in his head. And then he starts over.

When he's done, he smiles and thanks the director. And he hopes that none of them have perfect pitch. Because he totally switched the song into a slightly more comfortable key the second time.

*

"Hi! Are you joining Rachel?" The hostess at the Spotlight Diner points to a table near the stage. "Is she waiting to hear about another audition?"

"No," Kurt replies. "To both questions. Could we have a booth in the back?"

"We don't need to be quite so dramatic about it," Blaine tells Kurt. "I'm sure we can all be civil to each other, no matter who gets the part."

"This is basically high school, ten years later. You Warblers had Wes enforcing the rules of politeness," Kurt reminds him. "Vocal Adrenaline practiced the fine art of stabbing everyone in the back. And Rachel is a drama magnet. I plan on ordering pie tonight, and I want to eat it, not waste it by throwing it at the sneering face of Jesse St. James."

Maybe it's reasonable. Blaine doesn't know. He associates the diner with finding true love, not with the tension of waiting to hear about a part, so maybe he isn't calibrated correctly for the situation.

Wes and Al appear and slide into the other side of the booth. Blaine looks at them, surprised.

"Kurt invited us," Wes explains.

"You're more worried about this than I am," Blaine whispers to Kurt.

"You're not as high-strung as Rachel is, but you care about this," Kurt replies. "Besides, Wes and Al tell me that they have a tradition of helping you deal with rejection."

Blaine takes a sip of his water, and worries about what kinds of stories his friends are telling his boyfriend. Kurt slips a hand through his, which makes Blaine wonder if he is singing in his head without realizing it.

Rachel and Jesse are laughing loudly, and then get up to sing a duet. Kurt sings a competing (and rather raunchy) song in Blaine's head, which has the not-completely-unfortunate effect of distracting Blaine from the conversation that Al and Wes are having about some case that Wes is litigating.

They get burgers. Kurt keeps a perfectly innocent face while singing _Cheeseburger in Paradise_ in his head.

And so it goes until Blaine's phone rings.

"Are you going to answer it this time?" Wes asks. "Or should we put it on speaker again?"

"Put it on speaker," Al suggests. "It's good luck."

Kurt tightens his grip on Blaine's hand, and Blaine sits still. And then his friends are erupting in cheers, and Kurt is kissing him and singing in his head.

They're eating celebratory strawberry pie when Rachel and Jesse stop at their table.

"Congratulations on getting the part," Jesse says.

"I thought you had it," Blaine says. "I overheard your audition. You nailed it. I'm sure you'll get something else."

"I know I will," Jesse replies. "There's a script sitting at home that I'm reading." He shrugs. "Nice competing with you. I'm looking forward to humiliating you at the Tonys someday."

Rachel gives him a hug. "I'm glad you got the part," she says, then turns to Kurt. "Thank you for bringing me my stuff. But..."

"That last box is staying with me," Kurt says. "I don't want Jesse to suddenly decide to sell all your memorabilia on eBay if he decides _you're_ the competition."

"Don't ever change, Kurt," Jesse says, looking over his shoulder as he guides Rachel out of the diner.

"Well, that's over," Blaine says.

"We're going to have to invite them over for holiday parties, you know," Kurt says. "I'm not letting Jesse steal my best friend."

Blaine watches him eat pie, amused that his boyfriend may actually be as competitive as Jesse St. James when it comes to friendships.


	13. All the way home I'll be warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blaine and Kurt merge their holiday traditions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:  
> Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow
> 
> Also referenced:  
> Santaland Diaries (David Sedaris: https://www.thisamericanlife.org/47/christmas-and-commerce/act-two-5)

Getting a Christmas tree is surprisingly emotional.

When Blaine was a kid, it had seemed simple. A tree showed up, decorated with elegant, color-coordinated ornaments before Blaine got home from school, and then stood in the great room until it disappeared on January 2. Even after his parents got divorced, the tree would always just... appear.

For Kurt? It seems like getting a tree is an entirely different experience.

First, they wander the streets around Bushwick, looking for vendors outside their favorite bodegas. Then Kurt needs to inspect every single tree. Then they take a break to get some hot chocolate, because it's cold and snow is starting to fall, and Kurt wants to walk around, arm in arm, silently singing about the weather outside being frightful.

Eventually, they find a tree with the appropriate amount of character and carry it home. And then Kurt has trouble finding the decorations.

"Rachel and I didn't usually bother with a tree," Kurt explains.

"Because Rachel's Jewish," Blaine infers.

"No," Kurt says. "Rachel is perfectly capable of mixing and matching religious traditions when she wants to. You've never heard her sing one of her never-ending Christmas medleys, or had to convince her to listen to David Sedaris before applying for a job as one of Santa's elves."

Blaine shakes his head and opens another box.

Kurt looks in it. "Oh, that's where Rachel's scented candles ended up. Maybe I'll give them to her as a gift this year."

Blaine laughs and keeps looking through their still-half-unpacked belongings.

"Here it is." Kurt opens a box that contains all kinds of mis-matched ornaments. Photos glued into frames made of popsicle sticks. Crocheted stars of a variety of colors. Plastic spheres with carefully applied glitter. They all look home-made.

Blaine picks up a sphere and inspects it. "Will I get in trouble if I try to guess who made which ones?" he asks.

"My mother made these." Kurt points to one pile. "The glitter is mostly my work. And that thing... my dad made that."

Blaine picks it up and looks at it from each side. "Is it a tree?"

"If I remember correctly, it was supposed to be a reindeer." Kurt lifts it carefully and hangs it at eye height. "Ok. Where are yours?"

"I don't have any," Blaine admits. "My family bought things. We were never into arts and crafts."

Kurt tilts his head and frowns. "This does not fit with my fantasy of combining all of our treasured family traditions, Blaine," he says.

"Well, maybe we can hold a party where we dress up, invite people we don't really like, and pretend to be a perfect family." Blaine rolls his eyes.

"A party could be fun," Kurt muses. "And we could always invite Jesse, to represent the people we don't really like. I'd enjoy seeing Rachel, anyway." He turns back to their current project. "This tree needs something that symbolizes _you_ on it," he says. "That's it. We need to go shopping." He grabs a jacket. "Blaine Anderson, it is time to visit a craft store."

*

They come back with glitter and ribbons and glue guns and plastic spheres. It has been years since Kurt has done this kind of work, but he approaches it with the same perfectionist intensity that he brings to his writing. Blaine's hands aren't as steady, but Kurt only laughs at him a little. Eventually, they've got eight new ornaments for the eight months they've been together.

Kurt stands back and looks at their work, pleased. "There," he says. "You have been initiated into the Hummel family traditions."

"I am honored to be part of them," Blaine grins. And then thinks that maybe the scarf he bought for Kurt isn't the perfect Christmas present, after all.

*

Blaine sneaks back to the craft store, making an excuse about rehearsal going for an extra hour. The variety of materials is overwhelming. But there are frames, and mat boards, and some nice colored paper. Oh, and some funky pens for writing. He takes all of it, plus the box of Kurt's memorabilia, to Al's place. After all, Kurt is still doing some of his writing from home, and this project will take work. Al teases him, of course, but Blaine doesn't mind. Besides, if Al behaves badly, Blaine is totally going to sic Jesse on him for at least an hour at the holiday party.

They hold the Traditional Anderson Family Unpleasant Nondenominational Holiday Party on December 23. Late enough to finish decorating and to have time off from Blaine's rehearsals, but before Kurt's Traditional Hummel Family Christmas Eve Gift Exchange. The party might technically be formal, but Blaine's band shows up dressed in black t-shirts and proceeds to play the cheesiest holiday funk medley ever. Rachel sings along. It is genuinely, gloriously awful, especially because Wes drinks too much mulled wine, corners Jesse, and drags him into an extended argument about copyright law.

After the guests have left, Kurt and Blaine cuddle on the couch, ignoring the mess and watching the lights on the tree.

*

The next morning, Blaine jumps out of bed and goes to get the presents. Kurt opens one eye, then closes it.

"Blaine. We open presents on Christmas _Eve_. In the _evening_. Not at first light." He closes his eye again.

Blaine ignores him and bounces on the bed.

"God, Blaine," Kurt grumbles. "The whole point is to prevent anyone from acting like an overstimulated puppy before sane people have had their coffee. Moving everything ahead by exactly twenty-four hours does not serve that purpose."

"I can't believe that your parents explained it to you like that," Blaine replies. "What did they say when you were six?"

"Something about letting Santa know what gifts we already had," Kurt mumbles. "Blaine. Go figure out how to bake cinnamon rolls or something. I want to sleep."

Four hours later, Blaine wakes Kurt again.

"Seriously?" Kurt stares at the plate. "Did you actually go out and buy yeast at 6 am on Christmas Eve?"

Blaine nods and holds out the plate.

Kurt sits up and takes one. "Oh. My. God. Seriously. The crack of dawn thing had better not become a tradition, but you can make cinnamon rolls on any holidays that you want."

The rest of the day is quiet, except for the fact that Blaine can't wait to get to the presents. Finally, when they have finished dinner and washed the dishes and turned the lights on the tree, Kurt pulls out a package.

"You have to open yours first," Kurt insists. "At least one. Then we take turns."

Blaine tears off the paper while Kurt looks mildly dismayed at the chaos. Blaine pulls out the gift, and... it's a bright red scarf.

"Wear it," Kurt commands. "Now, while I open yours."

They alternate little gifts. Fuzzy socks. Elegant gloves. Cocoa for making more hot chocolate. A garish, Christmas-themed apron. Finally, Blaine pulls out his carefully wrapped project.

Kurt tries to shake it.

Blaine gulps.

"It's fragile?" Kurt looks intrigued, then carefully peels back the paper, slicing apart one piece of tape at a time. And then he just looks at the frame, and everything Blaine has mounted within it.

Blaine grins. "You let me into your storage boxes."

"And introduced you to arts and crafts," Kurt nods. "I see that."

Blaine bites his lip as Kurt examines each memory that Blaine selected. The programs from Kurt's junior year. Photos, of Kurt and Mercedes, Kurt and Rachel, Kurt and all the guys. And Kurt, in full show-choir dress, with his dad, looking proud. A few photos had been in the box, but more of them came from Mercedes and Rachel, after Blaine told them his plan.

Kurt turns the frame so he can read some of the lyrics that Blaine wrote out and mounted with the photos. "Who told you that we sang these songs in high school?" he asked.

"Rachel remembered some of them," Blaine says. "Mercedes helped with others."

"I think you and I have sung every one of these together," Kurt notes.

Blaine sits up a little taller. "I was kind of hoping you would remember that."

Kurt's lips curl into a smile. "You thought I might forget?" Then he puts down the frame, pushes aside the pile of socks and scarves, and presses his lips to Blaine's.

Blaine sighs and kisses him back. And they sit there, hands roaming, until Kurt remembers that they haven't finished with the gifts yet.

"One more," Kurt promises. "One more and then we can go to bed." He walks over to the tree and takes a small red envelope from one of the branches. "For you."

Blaine slides his finger under the flap, careful not to tear the single sheet of paper inside. It's in Kurt's handwriting.

"Recording time?" Blaine asks.

"The studio lets people record their own demos," Kurt says. "You know that your silly love songs are too good to keep secret, don't you? Sharing them with me isn't enough."

Blaine answers by kissing him, slowly and gently. They celebrate by tossing all the gifts off of the couch and giving each other blow jobs, like they used to do while Kurt was recovering from his accident. And then they change into pajamas, put a plate of cookies on the table, and head for the bedroom.

Well, actually, only Kurt heads for the bedroom. Because Blaine has an idea, and he needs to write it down. He thought he had been happy with the last song he had written, but it could be better. So much better.

He doesn't go to bed until 3 am. The next morning, Kurt is the one who gets up and makes breakfast.

*

Christmas day itself is quiet. Kurt appears in the bedroom carrying omelets and wearing the Christmas apron he bought for Blaine... and not much else. They eat, shower, dress, and cuddle on the couch, going through Kurt's DVD collection. Halfway through _Moulin Rouge_ , Blaine's mom calls, and they pause the movie while Blaine talks and Kurt starts making cookies. Then Mercedes calls and wants to Skype with Kurt, so Blaine takes over the baking.

He can only hear Kurt's side of the Skype call.

"Yeah," Kurt says. "You should have seen Rachel. No, she sang _all_ of them. Every single song. Blaine was too busy playing host. Well, ok, Jesse sang a few songs with her. But it was mostly Rachel." He laughs. "Yes, that Jesse. I was shocked, too."

Blaine mixes flour into the cookie dough as Kurt comes out of the office, carrying his computer.

"Mercedes wants to see the tree," he explains.

Blaine nods and keeps mixing.

"Wait," Kurt says. "Let me hold the computer up higher. Yeah. Blaine made that one." He's quiet for a moment. "Oh, trust me, I know. Here, he's in the kitchen, but you can talk to him."

"Hi, Mercedes!" Blaine waves the wooden spoon at her.

"Nice apron," she says.

"Kurt picked it out, so it's Vogue-approved," Blaine replies.

"In a holiday-themed ironic sense," Kurt interjects.

"Hey, Kurt says you've got a song that you're going to record." She smiles encouragingly.

Blaine looks at Kurt. Kurt tries to look innocent.

"He gave me some recording time for Christmas," Blaine says. "But the song isn't ready yet."

"But he's going to record it this week," Kurt says. "Right?"

"Well, whenever you're ready, I would be happy to share it with my contacts," Mercedes says. "Keep in touch. Ok?"

*

It's scary, going into the recording studio. But there isn't an audience, really - the recording booth is soundproof, and the only people listening are handling the tech, setting up mics and balancing the sound and telling him when to start.

Well, there isn't an audience except for Kurt, who sits outside the booth singing silly and encouraging songs in his head while Blaine is waiting for everything to get set up.

*

Blaine brings the recording home with him. But he won't listen to it.

Three days after the recording session, Mercedes calls him.

"Where's the demo?" she asks.

Blaine doesn't answer.

"Blaine," she says. "Just send it. I know it's scary to share songs with the world. But my contacts listen to new things all the time. Just take a risk."

Blaine doesn't know what to say. Mercedes is great, and would do anything for Kurt. But Blaine doesn't really know her that well, not for something like this.

She sighs. "I don't get it," she says. "You quit a show for a guy you barely know, but you are scared to send a recording to someone who hears hundreds of them."

*

"Mercedes says you haven't sent the demo yet," Kurt says. He's been writing, which means his voice sounds sharper and more critical than usual.

Blaine shrugs.

Kurt shakes his head. "Blaine. Just send it."

Blaine doesn't say anything.

Kurt sighs. "I haven't listened to it, except when you were recording. But I know exactly where you've saved it. I could just send it myself."

"Why don't you?" Blaine asks.

"Because that would be rude," Kurt shrugs. "It's your song. You decide what to do with it."

"But you'll nag me forever if I don't share it," Blaine extrapolates.

"It's not external validation that you need," Kurt replies. "I've told you what I like about your songs. And I criticize anything that I don't like. I will always encourage you, but sharing the songs with other people... that's something that _you've_ got to do."

"But you'll keep bringing it up until I send them," Blaine says.

"That's right," Kurt smiles. "Also, I might withhold singing during sex."

"You wouldn't." Blaine pretends to be shocked. Because any conversation about singing and sex usually ends in, well, singing and sex.

"You could just send it now." Kurt raises a suggestive eyebrow.

And that's how Blaine finally sends one of his songs out into the world.

*

Blaine's phone buzzes. It's Mercedes.

He answers, nervous.

"Hey. I got your demo and passed it on." She pauses.

Blaine waits. There's a part of him that hopes that it's good. But it's not a very big part.

"It's not right for any of the projects that they have right now," she says. "But they want to hear more."

"Oh," Blaine says.

"That's not rejection in this industry," Mercedes says. "Do you have other songs that you could record?"

Does Blaine have other songs? That's like asking if the ocean has any more drops of water.

"Maybe," he says.

"Have you recorded them?" she asks.

"No," Blaine admits.

"Ok," Mercedes says. "Here's what you need to do. Go down to that studio again. And this time, record a bunch of your songs. Give me all of them. I'll see who will listen." She pauses. "Don't make me tell Kurt that you're avoiding it again."

Blaine just laughs. "Ok. I'll record them."

"Good." There's a smile in her voice. "Oh, and Blaine?"

"Yes?" He's cautious.

"I'm sorry I ever accused you of being a serial killer," Mercedes says. "I haven't seen Kurt this happy in a long time. Maybe in forever."

Blaine smiles as he hangs up. The conversation gave him more ideas for songs.

*

Blaine and Kurt walk, arm in arm, into the coffee shop. THAT coffee shop. The one where they were introduced for the first time. They order, sit down, and wait.

There's a new barista, and she's got a different Spotify playlist than the people who usually work there. More pop, less jazz. Blaine recognizes the song that's playing, and hums along while Kurt grabs a newspaper and flips to the Arts section.

The barista calls their names, and Blaine goes to grab the drinks. After all, Kurt never adds the right amount of sugar to Blaine's coffee. That means Blaine is busy sweetening his drink, moving the spoon back and forth, when he hears Kurt singing in his head. The tune is familiar. So are the lyrics.

Because Blaine wrote them.

He looks up, surprised, and listens with his ears. There's a diva singing a ballad about finding true love... and Blaine wrote that song.

Blaine picks up the coffee and carries it to the table. Kurt takes a sip of his and grins.

And he doesn't stop singing Blaine's song back to him.

With an added, somewhat kinkier verse. One that Blaine didn't include in the recording that he sent to Mercedes.

And Blaine is suddenly very, very sorry that he's hearing this in a public place.


	14. We're both showing hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both Blaine and Kurt take risks. And they're worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> All of Me (John Legend: https://youtu.be/450p7goxZqg)
> 
> Going to the Chapel of Love (The Dixie Cups: https://youtu.be/cMfrLFirGWc)
> 
> All My Love (Led Zeppelin:https://youtu.be/z0DAnu5Sq6k)
> 
> Come What May (Moulin Rouge)

The first time Blaine proposed to someone, there were rose petals and chocolate-covered strawberries and an original love song.

Blaine's second proposal is unplanned and domestic. He doesn't even have a ring.

Years later, Kurt will remind him that it started with a phone call from Al that interrupted movie night. But that isn't the part the sticks in Blaine's head.

Kurt is on the couch - _Kurt's couch_ \- feeding popcorn to Blaine. "...we might as well be an old married couple at this point," Kurt says.

 _Moulin Rouge_ is paused on the TV. And maybe Blaine is feeling a little feisty after singing _voulez-vous coucher avec moi_ with Kurt, out loud, hinting at promises that they will most definitely keep later in the evening. "Yeah," Blaine replies. "Why aren't we?"

And then he stops. Because this is one metaphorical place, out of all the romantic places that Blaine enjoys, that he's still afraid to go. He sits up so he can see Kurt's face.

Kurt just shrugs, like it's no big deal. "Because neither of us has ever proposed?"

 _That's all?_ Blaine thinks. _That's all it takes? Well, then..._

"Kurt?" Blaine asks. But he can't do this sitting on the couch. It needs a little ceremony. He scrambles out of Kurt's arms and looks for something, anything, that could substitute for a ring. Maybe there are some finger picks lying around, from when he was trying to learn more guitar styles for his role. But all he can find is a slide. It makes absolutely no sense, and Blaine has lived with Kurt for long enough that he knows that Kurt will find it ridiculous. But Kurt will also enjoy telling the story to Mercedes and Rachel. Maybe that makes the risk worth it.

Maybe it's worth the risk anyways.

Blaine gets on his knee and holds out the slide. "Kurt Hummel. Will you marry me?"

As Blaine expects, Kurt gets caught up in the absurdity of the moment. "Is that supposed to be a ring?"

Blaine presses his lips together to keep from laughing. "It's obviously not a ring," he says. "I'll find a real ring later." _If you say yes._ Blaine is suddenly, irrationally worried.

"Wait," Kurt blinks. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious." Blaine keeps his hand extended and sings. " _What's going on in your beautiful mind..._ "

Kurt's face lights up as he realizes this is really happening. "Yes," he says. "Of course. Yes."

*

Kurt turns his laptop so Blaine can see the screen. "Could you read this draft?"

Blaine glances at it. "These are your vows?"

"A draft of them," Kurt says. "Just a draft."

Blaine looks everywhere except the screen. "Don't you think we should wait until the ceremony?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Because it's more romantic to be surprised on the first day of a life-long commitment?"

Blaine shrugs. "Well. When you put it that way." But he still doesn't look at the screen. He wants to feel it all at once, a tsunami of emotion. He wants to be swept off his feet, and to sweep Kurt off of his. He wants the grand gesture that he skipped with the silly proposal on the couch.

Kurt eyes him. "You're not even singing in your head yet, but I can hear the orchestra building. Blaine..."

Blaine sighs. "I'm never even going to be able to plan a surprise birthday party for you, am I."

Kurt places his hand on his forehead, in an over-dramatic gesture of mock horror. Then he rolls his eyes at Blaine. "I hate surprises."

Blaine shakes his head. "No, you don't."

Kurt relents. "I hate surprise _parties_ ," he says. "A nice dinner, a gift that I didn't think to ask for... ok. Fine." He shudders. "Just no driving around to unexpected places. And definitely no envelopes. Or mysterious text messages. I see them, and I immediately wonder who died."

Blaine reaches around the computer and threads his fingers through Kurt's. "Yeah. I get it." He glances at the notebook where he has been writing and crossing out ideas. "And that means you probably want to know what I'm planning to say, too."

Kurt rubs his thumb across Blaine's palm. It's arousing, just short of tickling, but Blaine forces himself to ignore it. "You know I love your sappy words." Kurt gives Blaine an encouraging look. "I just want to know what's coming."

Blaine closes his eyes for a moment, then picks up the notebook and flips to a page. "This is just a start," he cautions Kurt. "It's more like scraps of lyrics, and less like a speech. You know that my ideas don't come out in sentences and paragraphs like yours do."

"Is this what you've been humming to yourself lately?" Kurt makes grabby hands.

Blaine holds it back for a moment. "You know this is like eating the cookie dough while it's raw."

"Which risks salmonella, but is oh-so-good," Kurt replies. "Give it to me."

Blaine takes a breath and hands it over, then turns to the computer screen. Yes, he wants all of the feelings at once, standing in front of their friends and hearing Kurt promise to love him forever. But maybe reading a draft won't diminish it...

And. Oh. If this is a draft... "Kurt." Blaine looks up. He knows that his eyes are wet. "This is..."

But Kurt is looking at Blaine's notebook and shaking his head. "Blaine. You can't say this."

Blaine blushes. "I was thinking of singing it."

Kurt shakes his head harder. "No."

Shit. It's not good enough. Of course it's not good enough. Blaine thought they were past this, after they made it through the proposal and everything else. "I can make it less cheesy..."

Kurt looks up and blinks at him. "What are you talking about?" he asks. "I love your silly love songs. Don't you ever forget that."

Blaine bites his lip. "But?"

"But... an _angel_? Really?" Kurt raises an eyebrow.

Blaine shrugs. "What's wrong with angels, Kurt?"

"First of all, I am no angel. Or haven't you heard my fucking filthy mouth?" He smirks at Blaine. "Or my filthy mouth when fucking?"

Blaine ignores the tease. "And...?"

"And you promised that if we ever did a _Good Omens_ cosplay that I could be David Tennant." He rolls his eyes when Blaine doesn't take the bait. "Ok. Fine. I'm just not comfortable being idealized like that."

Blaine looks at Kurt's computer screen. "But your vows..."

"Are the truth," Kurt says. "But I don't know where you got this _angel_ idea. It's not _me_."

"When I first heard you," Blaine starts, "that's what I thought you were, Kurt."

"A quasi-religious mythical creature?" Kurt looks skeptical.

"I was drunk," Blaine admits. "And had just been dumped. But... when I was little, like four years old or so, I used to think that all the voices in my head were angels."

"So a quasi-religious pre-school romantic fantasy?" Kurt asks drily. "Do you want to talk about it? You know I'm a crappy therapist, but for you, I'll listen."

Blaine shrugs.

"Fine," Kurt says. "I only really have a problem with the quasi-religious part of it, anyway. I had my share of pre-school crushes on boys, after all." He reaches for Blaine's hand again.

Blaine wonders if Kurt hears him singing, but decides not to ask. Sometimes, hand-holding is just their thing.

"Blaine, look, I'll be serious about this for a moment. You say this - or sing it, whichever - and it will raise all kinds of questions. My friends know that I'm no angel. And some of them aren't likely to let it go until they get an answer."

"I disagree," Blaine argues. "I know you love Rachel, but she's too self-absorbed to notice a detail like that."

"I was thinking of Santana," Kurt replies. "And you know _she_ won't let a potentially humiliating mystery go by without unraveling it." He shrugs. "Plus I like having this one thing that we share, that nobody else knows about. If you said you imagined baby angels singing in your head, Santana wouldn't drop it until she knew everything. About both of us."

That's the first convincing argument Blaine has heard. "Ok," he says. "So I need to start over."

"Not now," Kurt says. "Let's snuggle up and watch _Moulin Rouge_ again." Ever since the proposal, it has been their go-to movie when their fights aren't big enough for make-up sex.

So they make popcorn, and grab a blanket, and start the movie. Partway through, they start singing along, Kurt's hands making slow circles on Blaine's shoulders to the rhythm, Blaine turning to make faces at Kurt until eventually, they are horizontal, Blaine leaning on Kurt's chest.

They manage to sing _Come What May_ , half out loud, half in their heads while kissing. When they're done, Kurt looks at Blaine thoughtfully.

"What?" Blaine knows that look. It could mean something amazing, or it could be terrifying.

"You want to sing at the wedding," Kurt muses. "What if I sang with you?"

"Out loud?" Blaine asks, surprised. "In front of your high school friends?"

"I mean, there's always a chance that I would open my mouth and nothing would come out," Kurt says. "It's scary to think about. But I'm willing to try, if I'm singing with you."

Blaine lifts himself onto his elbows. "You are? You would do that?" It's about as romantic as Blaine could want. But it also feels like Kurt would be taking all the emotional risks in the ceremony, and it doesn't seem quite fair.

Kurt grins at him, and Blaine wonders what he had been singing. "You showed me your song," he reminds Blaine. "You've showed me all your songs. That's riskier than me singing out loud. And besides," he smirks, "I plan to listen to you sing your sappy angel song in our honeymoon bed."

And. Well. Maybe this was just an adult discussion. But...

*

Blaine looks across the room filled with rows of family and friends and, just for a moment, listens to their songs. Wes is singing an acapella version of _Going to the Chapel_. Al's got Led Zeppelin's _All My Love_ in his head. Even Jesse St. James is singing, though he keeps getting distracted when Blaine's brother talks at him. Blaine grins. Kurt was in charge of the seating plan, and that juxtaposition was deliberate.

And then he blocks them all out and looks at the other entrance.

Kurt is standing there, posture as perfect as the moment when Blaine first saw him. He's not singing in his head at the moment, but Blaine can tell he's nervous from the way his hands move. Blaine imagines one of the kinkier lines from his angel song, and Kurt's lips twitch, just enough to show Blaine that he hears.

And then Rachel, and Wes, and Mercedes, and everyone else start to sing the processional. And it's time to walk out and get married.

"I understand that there's quite a story to how these two young men met," the officiant begins. "There was another wedding, and a band, and an emergency room?"

Blaine smiles. Yes, that's the official story. Kurt catches his eye and smiles back.

"So the grooms would like me to remind everyone that you all have rooms in this hotel, and when you leave, to please drive carefully, and to look both ways when you cross the street."

Kurt responds with a fervent nod.

"The grooms have written their own vows." The officiant looks at Kurt. "Are you ready?"

Blaine's heart nearly leaps out of his chest as Kurt takes his hand. He knows what's coming. And when Kurt looks him in the eye, Blaine decides that he doesn't need a surprise to make this perfectly romantic.

"Before you met me, I was all right," Kurt begins. The Warblers laugh, but they don't know half the reason for Kurt's mischievous look. "Actually, that's not true. I just thought I was. And it took getting hit by a car to learn otherwise." His eyeroll is perfectly timed to get a reaction from the McKinley crowd, and Blaine can see why Kurt's old friends had expected him to have a career in drama. "And Blaine..." The teasing stops, and Kurt takes a breath. "You brought me to life. You held my hand, and you put my pieces back together, better than they had ever been before. And now I'm looking forward to holding your hands for a very, very long time."

Blaine blinks. He's already tearing up, and he has to get through his part. Plus the singing.

"Kurt," he responds. "You're the one who is good with words. Me? My words always sound silly unless I'm singing them. Even when I'm singing them, to be honest."

Kurt smiles back at him.

"So..." Blaine looks around, then looks back at Kurt. "If you all don't mind, I'm going to sing my vows."

Kurt looks at him, then gives a little nod. Ok. They're doing this. Blaine takes a breath and starts.

 _Never knew I could feel like this_ _  
Like I've never seen the sky before  
Want to vanish inside your kiss..._

Kurt closes his eyes for a second. Blaine keeps singing, but squeezes Kurt's hands. _You can do this, Kurt,_ Blaine thinks as he finishes the first chorus.

Kurt opens his eyes and begins to sing, out loud. They've practiced it, standing in their living room or lying in bed or waiting for the other to get out of the shower. But it's been more than ten years since Kurt last sang in public, and half the audience knows that.

 _Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place_ _  
Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace  
Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste  
It all revolves around you_

There's an audible gasp from the crowd. Blaine would ignore it, except that Kurt opens his eyes and glances at the McKinley section, and Blaine can't help follow his gaze. Rachel is covering her mouth in surprise and bouncing up and down. Mercedes has her hands over her heart. And the others, people Blaine barely knows, are crying and giving thumbs-ups and heart signs.

And Blaine may have heard Kurt singing these lines many times already, but something about that pure, clear voice in this moment reaches deep inside him, just as it did the very first time he heard it. It's real. This is REAL.

Holy shit, they're getting married.

Blaine listens, and takes a breath, and pulls a ring from his pocket.

_I will love you..._

Kurt holds out his hand with the second ring.

_Come what may..._

And they slide the rings onto each other's fingers.

_Yes I will love you_   
_Until the end of time_

They stop singing out loud so they can kiss. But they don't stop singing in their minds.

They don't ever stop singing in their minds.

**Author's Note:**

> Question for readers: should I delete the old, short version of Blaine's POV, because it's been duplicated/revised/improved? Or keep it, because fics shouldn't be deleted?


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